


Ink Stained Hearts

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Because You Would Be Lying, Don't Tell Me Flynn with Tattoos Isn't the Hottest Thing You've Ever Seen, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, and feeeeeelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18627703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: Lucy goes to get a tattoo, and somehow lands herself a job. Wyatt goes to get a tattoo, and somehow gets friends. Flynn owns a tattoo parlor, and doesn't understand why everyone keeps staring at his arms.





	Ink Stained Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lxghtwoodlxve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxghtwoodlxve/gifts).



> For darling Trin, because she gave me the idea in this ask: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/183905761618/for-your-consideration-tattoo-artist-garcia-flynn and because she never fails to make me smile.

Lucy looked down at the address written on the piece of paper, and then back up at the storefront—a small store crammed in between a knitting store and an indie comics shop, and conveniently missing any title. There was just the windows, showing the inside of a tattoo parlor, with a front desk, a chair, and art all over the walls.

How the hell did this guy stay in business without a sign or anything?

Through recommendations, probably. Lucy stuffed the paper Amy had given her into her pocket and entered the shop, the bell ringing overhead.

Nobody was there.

Lucy stood around for a second, feeling her fragile, cobbled courage starting to spring a leak and drain away. On the desk there were some binders with titles on them like _Script Samples_ and _Watercolor_ and _Animals_.

Double checking that no one was around, she moved forward and started flipping through. Amy had been right—these designs were breathtaking. If she wasn’t already set on what she wanted…

“Lucy Preston.”

Lucy jumped, knocking a binder to the floor.

Standing in front of her was—oh.

Amy had failed to mention the guy was handsome as sin. Tall, wow, very tall, wearing tight black jeans and a black wifebeater, with dark hair flopping into his eyes slightly like it had originally been combed back but had been messed up as the day went on, and piercing green eyes.

He had various tattoos, only some of which she could see. Something was peeking out from the top of the wifebeater, although she couldn’t tell what. On his right arm was a curled red dragon, with layered scales, arching leathery wings, backwards arching horns on its head, smoke pouring out of its mouth, frills around the pack of its jaw and a frill running down its body. The smoke wrapped around and down, forming the words:

_Not all who wander are lost._

On his left arm was intricate script on a curling banner that read, _even darkness must pass, a new day will come, and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer._

Lower down on his right arm was another tattoo—this one a veritable forest, wrapping all the way around, tall thin trees overlapping and growing up from his wrist all the way up to his elbow.

All three tattoos were gorgeous. Lucy had to keep from gaping.

Then she remembered he’d asked her a question.

“Um, yes, yes and you must be Garcia Flynn?” Lucy asked—stammered, more like. “This is, uh, Spilled Ink, right?”

“I don’t know, do all tattoo parlors just happen to know your name?” Flynn replied, arching an eyebrow. He had an accent that she couldn’t quite place, but it made odd shivers shoot up her spine.

Lucy squared her shoulders. “How did you recognize me?”

“You’re my only appointment for the day.” Flynn walked around and picked up the binder she’d knocked off, carefully setting it back on the counter.

“I’m not surprised. You don’t have a website. Or a sign over the door.”

“And?”

“How do you even get customers?”

Flynn looked around. “Sorry, are you not a customer?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. Smartass. “I’m here because my sister—”

“Word of mouth, there you go.” Flynn smirked at her, then turned and waved at the binders. “You said over the phone you knew what you wanted, but if you want to browse for a few minutes…”

“N-no, no, I know what I want.” She pulled out her journal from her purse and opened it to the page she wanted, holding it out to him. “I’d like this, on my wrist.”

Flynn took the paper and examined it. The image was a simple, slightly stylized compass, black and white, eight spikes piercing a dial with dashes inside to indicate the various degrees. The southwest, northwest, northeast, and southeast spikes had small arrows on the end, while the main four had the N, S, W, and E at the end for the corresponding direction.

It had taken her ages of drawing it, over and over again, to get the design right, neither too complicated or too big for a wrist or too simple or too stylized.

Flynn hummed noncommittally, turning the journal every which way to look at it from various angles. After about thirty seconds of this, he seemed to realize that Lucy was just standing there staring at him. “You can sit down,” he told her, as if she should have known this and taken a seat already.

Lucy restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “Where?”

Flynn looked at the chair in the middle of the room.

Really? The tattoo chair. Right.

Lucy walked over to the chair and sat down, feeling horribly awkward. There was seriously no normal place for her to sit?

“Would you want this in black and white like the sketch?” Flynn asked, walking over to join her and sitting on the stool he obviously used for his work.

Lucy nodded. “Yes. I want it exactly like the sketch, that size too.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Exactly like the sketch? You know most people choose a tattoo artist because they like the individual stamp they put on their work.”

Oh, great, she’d insulted him. This was off to a fantastic start. “I just meant… I saw your work and what you did for my sister so I thought… you’re very good at taking others’ designs and… I’ll just stop talking now.”

Flynn looked back down at the sketch. “Maybe some color…” he muttered.

“Sorry?”

Flynn looked up. “Color. Instead of just black and white, just for the letters, and the arrow tips, maybe?”

He grabbed some colored pens from a tray and some tracing paper, twisting as he did so—and revealing his back and shoulders.

A magnificent raven, facing the viewer, wings spread on each shoulder blade like it was about to land right in front of the viewer, covered most of Flynn’s upper back. Despite being in black and white, each feather was carefully detailed, each wing and stroke of the pen clear and distinguishable. The raven almost looked real and Lucy had to resist the urge to reach out and trace the tattoo.

Instead she forced herself to look at what Flynn was doing, which was apparently tracing the sketch she had but using dark red for the N, S, W, and E and the arrow tips, then dark blue for the degree marks inside the dial. Flynn held it out to her.

“You look like someone who could use some color,” he said, his voice a bit gruff.

Lucy looked down at the sketch. She hadn’t… she hadn’t wanted anything too bright or colorful, but these little touches, just a hint… it was nice. It made someone have to look at the sketch a second time, take a closer look.

“I like it,” she said.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“Do I look like the kind of person who just says things to placate people?”

“Yes.”

Lucy glared at him. That one moment of odd perceptiveness, and Flynn’s insane attractiveness, did not balance out the general barbed attitude he had. Why the hell had Amy sent her to him?

Because he was the best, apparently. And she’d been putting off this tattoo for long enough.

She’d been putting off a lot of things for long enough.

Lucy held out her arm. “Go on, then.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow at her as if to say _your funeral_ , and then got to work.

Lucy breathed deeply. This was it. This was the big symbol, the sign branded onto her skin.

The old Lucy Preston was gone. Time to become someone new.

 

* * *

 

Flynn didn’t usually like chatting with customers while he worked, but Lucy felt… different. She challenged him in a way that few people did.

So he asked her questions—or, well, he tried.

They ended up talking a lot about his art.

Lucy seemed to like it a lot, and to know more about it than most people. “My sister got a tattoo here ages ago,” she explained at one point. “The Golden Gate Bridge, to remind her of home when she went to New Zealand.”

“I remember her. Chatty.” He’d liked that girl, actually. What was her name? “Amy?”

“Yeah.” Lucy smiled and Flynn’s heart actually did a flip. “You do really beautiful work. Best I’ve seen. I’m surprised not more people know about you.”

Flynn shrugged. He wasn’t big on advertising.

Lucy looked around as he kept working. “You could… use a little help with that.”

“Probably. My friends keep telling me I need to get another person to handle customers and appointments, maybe actually make me a website, but I don’t care about that kind of thing.”

“Well, I do. You should be sharing your work with the world. I could help you—I mean,” Lucy stumbled, “If you wanted, I could help you get it out there. You deserve to have your talent recognized. If that’s what you want.”

Flynn paused to change colors. “Are you asking me to hire you?” he asked.

Teasing. He was teasing her. Good God, he hadn’t done that in ages. Something about her just—lightened him up inside. Like the weight he carried was gone from his shoulders, at least temporarily.

Lucy blushed. “I—maybe? I don’t know. I just thought. Maybe.”

Flynn glanced at her. She looked tired. Wane. Skinny. Pale. And the compass she was getting—the odd fear and determination he sensed in her—

Flynn had a feeling she needed a job. Maybe badly.

And a little publicity would be good for his business… or so Mason and Rufus and, well, literally everyone else he knew kept prodding him to bring on an assistant “if you really hate dealing with people that much.”

“Sure,” he said. “You can start tomorrow. Come in at nine.”

“…wait, really?” Lucy asked. She sounded so hopeful that it broke his heart.

“Yeah.” Flynn dared to glance up at her, to take in the sweep of her lashes, her big brown eyes, her sharp cheekbones and angular face, the bow of her lips. “I have a feeling you and I will make quite the team.”

Lucy snorted at that as if to say _fat chance_ , but he saw a smile lurking in the corners of her mouth.

It made his heart flip all over again.

 

* * *

 

Lucy emerged from the tattoo parlor, blinking in the sunlight.

Had she really just earned herself a job?

Huh.

Well, it was good. She needed one, more than she’d let on to Flynn. After splitting from her mother and getting financially cut off as a result, and leaving the history department at Stanford, she needed cash, and as soon as possible.

She didn’t want to think about the alternative.

Needing a distraction, she slipped into the comic book store to the left of the parlor. _Lifeboat Comics_. She hadn’t been inside one of these in years.

“Hey.” A woman about Amy’s age, so roughly seven years younger than Lucy, sat behind the counter. A gorgeous gray cat was in her lap, napping. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“Hi.” Lucy walked over, and waved.

The girl’s eye lit on the bandage. “Just got a tattoo?”

“Yup, my first one.”

“How’s Flynn today? Cranky?”

“You say that like there’s times he’s not.”

The woman laughed. “You just gotta get to know him. He’s a raging pile of garbage but he’s also an old softie. I’m Jiya by the way.”

“I’m Lucy. You might be seeing a lot of me, actually, I… somehow talked my way into getting a job with him.”

“No way.” Jiya pulled out her phone and stood up. The gray cat was knocked to the floor and meowed in righteous indignation. “Oh, sorry Picard.”

Picard looked like this insult to his dignity would not be forgotten, and trotted off to the door to the back, meowing.

The back door opened and two men emerged, one about Lucy’s age and wearing a hoodie, one older and dressed in a dark blue button up. Both had dark skin, but one was sporting stubble and sideburns and the other had said goodbye to hair long ago.

“Rufus, Mason, meet Lucy. She’s working for Flynn now.”

Lucy shook hands with them, learning the younger one was Rufus and the other Mason, the latter owning the shop.

“You’ll want this,” Jiya said, holding her phone out to Lucy.

Lucy took it, a little confused, and found herself starting at an Instagram page—for the tattoo shop.

There were a lot of rather, um, good pictures of Flynn on there.

“He doesn’t know I run it,” Jiya said, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “But it’s how he mostly brings in customers. I take pictures of him and everyone wants an appointment with the hot as sin tattoo artist.”

“I can’t blame them,” Lucy admitted before she could stop herself. “His personality sure isn’t going to get him anyone.”

Jiya took her phone back. “I’ll send you the login info.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh! You should meet Denise and Michelle! You’ll love them. The moms you never had.” Jiya paused. “Or, the moms you wish you had.”

“I just… broke off from my mom, actually.”

“Then you need Denise and Michelle. They run the yarn store on the other side of the tattoo parlor.” Jiya grinned at her and held out her hand. “C’mon. I’ll take you.”

Feeling foolish but also warm inside, and oddly enough, like she could relax, Lucy took her hand and let Jiya lead her.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt finished signing the papers, Jess’s gaze a weight on his back, but not an angry one.

They’d both long since moved past anger. Jess was weary, and Wyatt was too. They’d drained every last bit of emotion out of themselves, arguing and bickering and fighting and every other level of conflict besides. At this point he just wanted it all to be over. He wanted to move on, and obviously so did Jess.

Wyatt pushed the papers away and nodded at their lawyer. Dave had been a friend of the family for years and had managed to remain Jess’s friend while gently smacking Wyatt upside the head about some of his more, ah, asshole behavior.

“And that’s that.” Dave gathered up the papers. “For what it’s worth, guys, I think this is for the best, and… I hope you two can find a way to be friends again. You’re both good people.” He stood up. “I’ll get these filed so it’ll be official tomorrow. Have fun on your trip, Jess.”

Jess smiled wanly at him, too tired to muster up a real grin but with warmth in her eyes. “Thanks, Dave, we appreciate it.”

“You’ve been a saint,” Wyatt said, and he meant it.

Dave nodded at them both, smiling carefully. “It’s the least I could do, guys.” _It’s the least I could do to stop you two from tearing each other’s throats out_ , he carefully didn’t add.

Wyatt heard it anyway and winced in guilt, seeing Jess do the same out of the corner of his eye. Jess definitely had the high ground on morality here. Wyatt had come around to understanding that. But they were both stubborn people and by the end of it neither of them had behaved in ways they were proud of. A lot of words had been said that Wyatt wished he could take back, and he knew Jess did too.

Dave left, and then it was just the two of them.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Should probably get to bed, your flight’s early tomorrow.” He paused. “Are you—this isn’t me—you can take care of yourself. I just want to make sure—you know you can call me, if she turns out to be awful, right?”

Jess had decided that after the divorce she really needed a change of pace and was going to visit a friend of hers in New Zealand. The two of them had met online about two years ago and had been chatting every day since. Wyatt trusted Jess to be able to look after herself and he agreed that after being pretty much shackled to him for most of her life, Jess deserved to take a damn vacation and get away from him and everything else. She’d quit her job at the bar and had scored a deal with the online magazine she wrote for to go from part time to full time by doing a blog series on New Zealand.

He was proud of her, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate him saying so.

Jess gave him a look of exasperated fondness. They weren’t… quite friends. But Wyatt was starting to feel like maybe, if he was very, very patient and very, very careful, they could be.

“If I’m catching a last-minute flight home and need you to pick me up, I’ll call you,” Jess promised. “But we’ve Skyped and everything. I’m pretty sure if she was secretly awful I’d have figured it out by now.”

“I’m just saying… I want you to be okay.”

“I will be.” Jess cocked her head at him. “And you?”

“I’ll be fine.” Lost and not knowing what to do with himself, but yeah, he’d manage.

The next day he drove Jess to the airport, dropping her off, and then started driving aimlessly.

He didn’t want to go back home just yet, back to that empty apartment. He and Jess had sold a lot of their shit, and Jess wasn’t on the lease anymore, and the place was going to be cold and empty and impersonal without her and he couldn’t face it. Not just yet.

Fuck, he needed something to jumpstart his new life. Wyatt couldn’t help but feel lately like he was at a crossroads—that his divorce with Jess was a crowbar that was cracking him open, revealing things terrifying and liberating, only he couldn’t recognize them just yet. He had to bring them out into the light, and he didn’t know how.

And he was scared.

He needed something, something to get him grounded back in who he was—whoever he could be, whoever he wanted to be—something to remind him of his roots, of himself…

Wyatt nearly slammed on the brakes instinctively.

He should get a tattoo.

 

* * *

 

Flynn wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that he was now, uh, actually busy.

Normally he made just enough to get by, and he was fine with that. He didn’t spent money on anything besides food and rent, and preferred to borrow books from the library or occasionally pirate a film rather than going out and doing things and (ugh) interacting with people. Denise and Michelle, and then Rufus and Jiya and Mason, were plenty of interaction for one person, thanks.

Usually he got a customer a day, and got to spend the rest of the time doodling, brushing up on technique, and watching Mason fighting with people on Twitter or listening to Rufus and Jiya rant about the latest geek film (lately it was something about a person named Reylo who was an asshole? Flynn couldn’t keep track). Denise and Michelle occasionally invited him over for tea or dinner. It was quiet, it was nice.

But now that Lucy was here, he was actually doing what was supposedly his job.

Not that he minded. He liked doing tattoos and always had. He zoned out, the rest of the world with its loudness and its way of closing in on him finally receding as he helped someone to make art a part of their body, a part of their life. He had annoying customers and customers who wanted stupid things—who didn’t—but most of the time they were really passionate about their tattoos, about the meaning or the beauty of them or both, and it was worth the blood, sweat, and tears (literally all three) to see the look on a customer’s face when they saw their tattoo for the first time.

Lucy was busy, in charge of an Instagram account for the place, which meant she was taking pictures all the time of Flynn working, or of the tattoo he’d just done, or both. Sometimes she’d just randomly snap a photo of him and giggle to herself, and Flynn got the impression he’d just missed the point of something.

When she wasn’t doing social media she was drumming up clients by interacting on discussion websites. She made a personal website for the tattoo parlor, all sleek and artsy, and somehow without even consulting him she managed to make exactly the kind of website he’d want to for the place.

That was the thing—he never had to ask Lucy for anything. He never had to interact with the social media accounts, he never had to explain to her what he wanted for his, well, brand for lack of a better term. Lucy just took care of it, and somehow, she knew what to say and how to present things exactly how he would have.

Although he suspected she said it all much more nicely than he could have.

Lucy took phone calls, organized the calendar, and gave out business cards. She was even encouraging Flynn to do some prints of his art for local art fairs, although he wasn’t so sure about that. That had been Lorena’s territory.

Not that Lucy needed to know about that.

For the first time, Flynn was puzzled by being something called popular. At least in a manner of speaking. It was… weird, mostly. Sometimes flattering, most of the time confusing, and honestly he tried not to think about it too much. But at least he was getting a lot of customers, had cash to spare, and it was—surprisingly—really helping his mental state, to keep himself busy doing what he loved. He hadn’t realized how bad the depression was until he was starting to climb out of it.

He had to thank Lucy somehow—Lucy who despite his crankiness and foot-in-mouth habits had stuck around and helped him, more than she could possibly know.

Flynn had noticed her journaling a lot—both sketching and writing. She was quite the artist, usually drawing historical events like the moon landing, but occasionally people, like Jiya. Her journal had to be almost full now, didn’t it?

It was easy enough to stop by a little stationary store on the way home from the grocery and pick out a nice leather-bound journal in dark red. Similar to her current one, but also unique.

Lucy was at the front desk when he entered, groceries in one hand, the journal tucked into the large inner pocket of his jacket, hidden. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it in time for your client,” she teased, setting her phone down.

Flynn pretended he hadn’t noticed the way her hands were turning the phone over and over nervously, how she let out a long slow breath of relief. Lucy was the most competent and smart person he knew, but she seemed terrified whenever he left her to run the shop on her own because he had to run out somewhere.

He wished she could see what he saw in her.

“I got you something,” he said, gruffly, taking the journal out and passing it to her.

Lucy’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening slightly in surprise as she took the journal from him.

“I noticed yours was getting a little full,” he explained.

Lucy looked down at the journal, fingers sliding slowly over the front, and Flynn felt his chest going tight. “I’ll just go put these away,” he said quickly, and then hurried upstairs to take care of the groceries.

When he came back down, some fresh tissues were in the trash can by the desk, and Lucy’s eyeliner and mascara looked freshly applied. “Did you li—”

Lucy got up and hugged him.

Flynn froze, startled, then gingerly wrapped his arms around her in return. Lucy gave a content little sigh and sank further into him, her arms tightening, and Flynn hoped she couldn’t hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Tentatively, he raised a hand to brush through her hair, willing his hands not to tremble.

He couldn’t say for certain how long they stood there, Lucy buried in him, him holding her and trying not to feel like he had the world in his hands, but at last she pulled back. Her smile was tiny, but he thought he might drown in it.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry I—I haven’t gotten, um, that was really thoughtful. I haven’t had that in a while.”

“You haven’t gotten a present in a while?”

“I haven’t had anyone do something for me, without strings attached, in a while,” Lucy elaborated.

Flynn had to stop himself from saying something stupid, like promising her he’d buy her a journal every damn day if that was what she wanted. Flowers, books, anything, so long as she felt cared for.

“You seem to really enjoy it,” he said instead, realizing the silence was starting to stretch for too long. “Drawing and writing.”

“It’s one of the few good ideas my mother had,” Lucy admitted, sitting on the edge of the desk. Flynn tried not to think about how easy it would be to plant his hands on either side of her and playfully lean in. “She gave me my first journal and said that it would be good if I wrote down my thoughts, what was happening, how I was feeling. That it would help me to sort everything out.

“I think she meant for me to figure out that all the anxiety I was feeling—over going into history, over my fiancé, over all of it—was just jitters and I’d get over it and that it was all going to be okay. But what happened instead was that I sorted out that nothing about my life was what I wanted.”

Flynn felt like he’d been run over by four trains at once. “You had a fiancé?”

Lucy gave a rueful smile, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. “Yeah. His name was Noah, he’s a surgeon. Good guy, honestly. Dependable, good looking, funny, soft spoken, good family… and I couldn’t understand why I kept finding myself having panic attacks in the bathroom when I tried to plan our wedding.

“Eventually while writing I realized… how much of my life my mother had picked out for me. My sister rebelled a lot and I think Mom gave up on her and just focused in even more on me. I love history, I always have, but she was the one who picked out my college for me, who told me I’d get my PhD in it, who helped introduce me to Noah, who paid the rent on our apartment… all of it, she was just everywhere in my life and I couldn’t breathe in it. Nothing was my choice. So… I got out.”

“And you got a tattoo,” Flynn guessed.

Lucy’s smile, which had faded as she’d spoken, grew again and she nodded. “Yes. Nobody charts my course but me, now. I love art, and so… I wanted to work with you. Helping people. I know that it’s a small thing in a way, getting a tattoo. It’s not therapy or performing heart transplants or being a volunteer firefighter. But my tattoo means a lot to me and I know that other people’s tattoos mean a lot to them and… anyway.” Lucy’s cheeks got a little pink. “I’m not sure where I’m going with this. Or where I’m going with my life. I just want to be… not ambitious like my mother, or doing things the ‘right way’. I just want to be with good people. I want to be myself and be happy.”

“You can be whoever you want here,” Flynn promised her.

Lucy laughed, but not as if he was funny—like she was laughing in relief. “I know it’s—it’s weird but you’re the easiest person to talk to that I’ve ever met.”

Flynn shrugged. “Well, you know, that makes sense. We’ve both been through a lot… we’re both geniuses…”

Lucy gave him a wry _sure, bud_ kind of look. “Uh-huh.”

“What, you don’t think I’m a genius? I’m wounded, Lucy, truly.”

Lucy’s eyes sparkled and her smile grew again, and it hit Flynn how much more he’d been seeing her smile lately. How different she was from the timid, startled rabbit he’d first met, defensive and her voice shaking a little.

The door jingled as their expected client entered. Lucy turned around and stood in one smooth movement, smiling. “Hi, welcome!”

Flynn retreated further back into the shop to make sure he had everything ready while Lucy took care of the front of the shop aspect. He knew it was stupid of him to resent a paying customer who had an appointment for actually showing up, but he’d wanted to keep talking to Lucy, had wanted to keep making her smile and laugh.

Only a few weeks in, and he was already over his head with her.

 

* * *

 

Lucy sat down on the floor, her back against a pillow, as the Skype dialed up. She’d sold pretty much all the furniture she had and pared her clothes down to the essentials.

“Hey!” Amy said, grinning already as the connection went live. “Oh my God, how’s it going?”

Amy had moved to New Zealand a couple of years ago to get away from Mom, and Lucy couldn’t blame her even if the insane time difference sometimes felt like a knife in her ribs.

“It’s good!” she said. She explained all about her new job.

“Wait, wait, hold on.” Amy was laughing. “This is with Flynn. The guy you said I was insane for sending you to, the guy you said you wouldn’t touch with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole, you’re working with him!?”

“He’s… he’s not so bad, once you get to know him,” Lucy said, knowing her cheeks were pink and wishing she could will the heat away from her face. “He’s just lonely.”

“Oh my God.” Amy was grinning like a lunatic. “You like him! He’s hot isn’t he.”

“Amy!”

“I mean I didn’t send you to him because he’s hot I sent you to him because he’s a great tattoo artist, but he’s totally drool worthy. I follow his Instagram and it’s not just for the tattoo work if you know what I—” Amy froze and Lucy hid her face in her hands. “Oh my God you run that Instagram don’t you.”

“We need a social media presence to survive in a late capitalist society! And I didn’t… I didn’t create the Instagram, Jiya did, she works next door, it’s actually how Flynn’s been getting customers since he’s allergic to technology and social interaction.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Amy waggled her eyebrows. “Soooo…”

“So, what?”

“So, when are you going to make sweet, sweet love to him in the tattoo chair?”

“Okay first of all, that is so unsanitary—”

“You like him,” Amy said bluntly.

Lucy nodded mutely.

“And it sounds… it sounds like you like all these other people,” Amy went on. “Jiya, and what was her boyfriend’s name?”

“Rufus.”

“Yeah. It sounds like you finally have friends, Lucy. I’m really happy for you. I mean, Mom would lose her mind if she knew what you were up to.”

“I’m not doing it just to make her upset.”

“I know. I’m just pointing it out.”

“Speaking of Mom…” There was no easy way to say this. “The lease is up on my apartment. And now that I’m cut off… I’m not sure where I’ll be staying next. I’ve been trying to find some new places but I—I don’t want to move in with a roommate I don’t know, and I don’t really have much savings yet and a lot of places want the first month’s rent up front and then at least that much or more as a deposit, and this city is so damn expensive so…”

She didn’t want to cry in front of her sister. Amy was younger but she’d spent their whole lives being the strong one, the one who dared to talk back, to rebel, to speak her mind, to be herself.

How was it possible that Lucy was in her thirties and yet she still felt so young, so behind on everything?

“Anyway,” she finished, drawing herself up, “I’m going to be fine but I wanted you to know what was going on.”

“Can you couch surf?” Amy asked, looking troubled, a furrow appearing in her brow.

“I was thinking of asking if I could do that with Rufus and Jiya for a couple weeks.” Denise and Michelle were another option, but Lucy didn’t want to impose on anyone. Not on the lovebirds or on the women with two rowdy teenagers to look after.

“You’ve got a support system, Lucy,” Amy reminded her. “You’re not alone.”

Lucy nodded. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. It’s going to be okay. And we’ll work out a time for me to come and visit. If only to see you and Flynn interact, oh my God, that has to be priceless.”

Lucy groaned. “How about I find a place to live and then you can needle me about my romantic options, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

Lucy really didn’t want to burden any of her newfound friends by crashing with them. They’d only just met her. She couldn’t do that to them.

She couldn’t afford a motel, either, and she didn’t want to go to a homeless shelter if she could avoid it.

Although…

The tattoo parlor had a back room. It was where Flynn did the accounting, but it was big enough that there was a large comfy leather couch. Flynn had told her that on the rare occasions customers were woozy or something—or if their friends watching got woozy—he would have them lie down on the couch until they felt better.

Maybe… she could crash there?

There was a full bathroom with a shower and everything, a holdover from whatever the tattoo parlor had been beforehand. It was cramped, sure, but it would do the trick. And Flynn had a microwave on his desk because he was too damn lazy to walk upstairs to make lunch half the time. She could just walk to the corner store to get microwave food and fresh fruit and raw veggies every day, make do until she could get a place. She felt safe in the tattoo parlor, she’d have privacy, and Flynn didn’t have to know.

It beat living out of her car, anyway.

Yes, just until she had money saved up to get her own place. She could do this. Nobody would be the wiser. It would be her personal secret.

 

* * *

 

Flynn rubbed at his eyes and glared out the window at the sunlight.

He didn’t often have insomnia anymore. It had slowly faded, until it was just a few random nights here and there.

Sometimes he felt guilty over that. Like he should be more actively upset, more actively grieving.

Other times he was just grateful. He had enough ghosts around his neck, and enough thoughts plaguing him in the day. The bliss of unconsciousness was the only guaranteed respite, sometimes.

He got up, knowing it was early but resolved to be productive. Pulling on some clothes, he went downstairs—he had some accounts he had to go over, and he should put in an order for a new chair for the front desk, something nice and comfy for Lucy to—

Lucy?

Flynn froze, the door to the back room-slash-office half open, staring as his heart careened to a halt and then skidded, tripped, and began to race at breakneck speed.

Lucy was curled up, so very small, surprisingly so, on his couch. A blanket was wrapped around her like a shield, her dark hair almost the same color as the leather of the couch, and one of her sock-covered feet poked out from underneath.

What was she doing here?

Flynn crossed over to her, kneeling down, and dared—heart in his throat, oh God, he dared—to gently run his fingers through her tangled hair.

Lucy made a soft musing noise, and Flynn thought he might collapse. Slowly, like she was emerging from deep water, she stirred, eyes blinking open.

“Garcia?” she whispered, and he wondered if she thought he was real, or if she supposed she was just dreaming.

He couldn’t remember her calling him by his first name before.

Then her eyes went wide and she sat upright, knocking his hand away in the process—although not, he thought, on purpose—and drawing the blanket around her knees. “Oh my God.” She sounded horrified. “I’m—I’m so sorry I’m—I didn’t—”

“You didn’t mean to spend the night on my couch?”

Lucy blushed as her eyes got bright and he realized to his horror that she was embarrassed—possibly even humiliated. “I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said, her voice small, ashamed.

He never wanted her to sound like that again, to look like that again, not this bright beautiful woman. Flynn got to his feet and sat down next to her. “Lucy, are you—are you safe? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She shied away. “I just—I needed a place—just for a few days, a couple weeks at most—”

“How long have you been here?”

The look she gave him was pure misery. “A week.”

Flynn swore violently in Croatian. “You should’ve told me. Or Jiya, or Denise, any one of them would take you in, why—did you get kicked out—”

“My mom paid the lease on my apartment. I sold everything but it’s expensive to live here and I didn’t have enough saved up and I know it’s probably stupid of me but I didn’t want to go to a shelter or impose on anyone, I’ve only known you guys for—”

“Stay with me.”

Lucy stopped, mouth open on a word. “What?”

“Stay with me,” Flynn repeated. “I have room. I mean we might have to rearrange some furniture but… Lucy, it wouldn’t be imposing, it wouldn’t be a burden. Please. I’d—I’d like to have a roommate.”

Lucy swallowed. “I feel like a failure. I’m thirty-four and I’m restarting my life and I can’t even get an apartment…”

“The economy is in the toilet, everyone’s just barely keeping their heads above water, and you’re—Christ, Lucy, you’re the bravest person I know.”

Lucy looked like he’d hit her over the head with a sledgehammer. “What?”

“You broke away from your family, from everything that you knew, everything that was safe, and you started over. It’s not easy to do that. And you’re always so cheerful and determined and making sure everyone else is happy. You—you deserve to be happy, too. To be—to feel taken care of the way you take care of everyone else. Please. Please move in with me. Even if you only want it to be for a little while. Let me help you the way you’ve helped me.”

Lucy pressed her lips together. “It would be… repayment, sort of?”

“No. It would be friends helping each other. I could… it might be good for me to not be alone.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.” He’d build her a palace if she asked him to. “Please stay.” _In my heart, in my life, everything, God everything please, please stay._

Lucy nodded, and then she was crawling over and hugging him again. Flynn didn’t hesitate this time, holding her tightly, shushing her a little when she cried. Then he helped her move her suitcase up and get her things in.

“There’s just one bed,” he said, apologetic. “But it’s a king, so…”

“I can take the…”

“No, no, if anyone’s taking the couch it’s me.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I guess we’re sharing the bed, then.”

“Until I can get a cot in here.”

“I won’t be here that long, Flynn.”

Ah, of course. Right. “We—”

There was a knock downstairs.

Lucy’s eyes went wide. “I forgot to unlock! We have a morning appointment—” She looked at the clock. “We were supposed to be open fifteen minutes ago!”

They scrambled, and then Lucy ran downstairs to let the customer in. When Flynn came down a moment later, he found Lucy sitting on the desk and—

—and apparently quite comfortable with their new customer.

To be fair, the guy was. Well. _Pretty_ was probably the best word for it, with a puppyish sort of handsomeness, a little bowlegged with stubble and messy dark blond hair and he was currently ducking his head down and calling Lucy _ma’am_ and smirking and Flynn felt instincts he didn’t even know he’d had rearing up and telling him to march over and pin the guy to the desk.

And definitely in a sexual way.

Flynn walked over, and the guy looked over at him. A cocky sort of smile slid off his face and his eyes went wide and oh, man, Flynn wanted to do all kinds of bad things to him.

“Wyatt, this is Flynn, as I’m sure you know. Flynn, Wyatt wanted to start just with a consultation, and then we could actually do the tattoo at a later date?”

Some clients wanted to have a consultation first, which was fine with Flynn. He wanted his clients to trust him and to be sure of what they wanted.

“What are you thinking of getting?” Flynn asked.

“Ignore the blatantly condescending tone,” Lucy said. “It’s not intentional.”

“…I’m going to take that advice,” Wyatt said, grinning at Lucy. He looked back over at Flynn, raising a challenging eyebrow. “I was hoping for something to do with my military service.”

Oh, great. Flynn tried not to roll his eyes. “I don’t do bald eagles on principle.”

Wyatt glared at him, putting his hands on his hips. “Oh, yeah? Too bad, I wanted a big one all over my chest?”

“Really.” Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Mind showing me where?”

Lucy’s eyes darted back and forth, gleaming with interest.

Wyatt’s eyes got wide and he stammered. “I—you—fine.”

“Oh my God, don’t, he’s messing with you,” Lucy said. “What do you actually want?”

Wyatt glared at Flynn again and answered Lucy. “I was in… I was in Delta. Before that the Rangers, before that the Army, and I wanted… one of those symbols.” He winced. “…with the American flag.”

Flynn tried to hold in his snort but didn’t quite manage it. “All right, so what did you really want.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, that you don’t really want that,” Flynn snapped, folding his arms. He noticed Wyatt’s gaze darting down to his biceps and then back up again. “I’ve been giving tattoos for years and it’s a pretty damn permanent thing to get and I can tell when someone thinks they want something when what they actually want is the meaning they think that thing conveys. So. What do you think that’s going to mean to you?”

Wyatt opened his mouth, went red in the face, and closed his mouth again.

“What’s important to you?” Lucy asked, quietly.

“Jesus what is this, therapy?” Wyatt grumbled. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know. I wanted to—try and remember who I was so I could move forward. My life has kind of been a mess lately.”

“And that’s all you are, a soldier?” Flynn knew he was a hypocrite, given the wars he’d been in, but he’d left that behind and fighting for freedom was a hell of a lot different than fighting for the most powerful military in the world as a career.

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Wyatt snapped. “My grandfather was in World War II, okay, I figured—it was a way to make him proud. Carry on his legacy.”

“You were close with your grandfather?” Lucy asked, still keeping that quiet, soft tone.

“I, uh, yeah.” Wyatt shuffled his feet, taken aback—as everyone always was—by Lucy’s genuinely caring demeanor. “He was the only decent guy in my family. Took care of me while he could.”

“And you want to honor that. Your relationship and your similarities.”

Wyatt nodded.

“And what year did your grandfather enlist for World War II?”

“Soon as America got into it, 1942.”

Lucy grabbed her journal and flipped to a clean page, then grabbed a pencil, quickly sketching out something rough. She then passed the journal and pencil to Flynn.

Flynn saw that she’d written, in simple, elegant font: _Est. 1942_

Flynn took the pencil and started elaborating on her text. “What’s your last name again?”

“Logan.”

He added _Logan_ at the top, and sketched a quick shield shape around it, almost like a coat of arms. When he finished, he passed it back over. “What do you think? Upper bicep, I’d say, but it’ll work for the hip or chest if you’d want it somewhere a bit more easily hidden.”

“No, no, arm is… is good.” Wyatt’s fingers brushed Flynn’s as he took the journal, staring down at it. “That’s… that’s really, um. I like it.”

He glanced up at Flynn through his lashes, went pink, and looked back down at the design, before shoving the journal back at Flynn. “You could do that, yeah.”

“I could?” Flynn asked. “Or that’s what you want me to do.”

“It’s what I want you to do,” Wyatt replied, his tone challenging.

Flynn smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

“I can set you up with an appointment,” Lucy said. “How long do you think this would take, Flynn?”

They got into the logistics about when and how long and pricing, and if Wyatt wanted it in black and white or something else—they ended up settling on a dark blue, reminiscent of denim.

Flynn rolled up Wyatt’s left sleeve. “So you want it here?” he asked, spreading his hand around Wyatt’s upper arm.

He could see Wyatt swallow. “Yeah.”

Flynn found himself rubbing his thumb back and forth across Wyatt’s skin and forced himself to stop. Jesus Christ, the guy clearly had a lot of issues and was in a transitional period of his life, this was no time to flirt for fuck’s sake. Especially in front of Lucy, Lucy who made him dizzy and soft and shook him to his core.

He let go and stepped back. “Lucy will finish setting you up.” He nodded at her. “I have some accounts I need to settle.”

Flynn walked away as quickly as he could without it looking like he was fleeing.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt sat down in the chair, taking a deep breath. Okay. He could do this.

“I feel stupid for being nervous,” he admitted as Flynn got his equipment set up.

“It’s natural,” Flynn replied. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Wyatt did as he was told. Lucy hovered by his head, although when she’d walked over, he wasn’t certain.

“I wanted to have a beer but you said no drinking.”

“Alcohol thins your blood,” Flynn explained. “Makes it harder and more dangerous to tattoo you.”

“Makes sense.”

“I can help you relax, though,” Flynn added. “Tried and true method.”

“Oh?”

The hands at his jeans zipper made him jolt. “…wha…”

Hands—Lucy’s hands—slid down his chest as she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Shhh it’s okay. You can have this.”

Wyatt dared to reach out, his fingertips trembling, and Flynn turned his face, pressing his cheek into Wyatt’s touch, as he finished opening Wyatt’s pants.

A small groan escaped Wyatt as Flynn drew his cock out, already half hard, Flynn’s eyes dark and hungry as he locked his gaze with Wyatt’s. “You want this?” Flynn asked, stroking Wyatt slowly.

Wyatt swallowed hard, nodding, not trusting his voice. Lucy’s hands moved down to grasp his, her grip surprisingly strong. “He’s trembling,” she whispered, sounding gleeful.

She pulled Wyatt’s hands up over his head, making him feel even more exposed, more held down, her fingers hooked in his feeling like the only thing keeping him anchored.

Flynn winked at him, braced a broad hand on Wyatt’s thigh, and then guided Wyatt’s cock into his mouth.

Wyatt arched up, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, gasping for air, struggling not to shove his hips up into Flynn’s mouth. Lucy had the leverage to hold him down using his hands above his head, and Flynn’s hands on his thighs kept him from being able to move the way his body naturally wanted to, leaving him just squirming helplessly. Flynn was ruthless, no teasing, just working Wyatt until Wyatt thought he was going to melt right out of the chair.

He started begging at some point, or maybe just moaning, he wasn’t sure. He was gripping hard onto Lucy’s hands, it had to be uncomfortable, but she wasn’t complaining. Instead she was kissing along his neck, whispering in his ear, _you like this, you want this so badly, don’t you, make noise for us sweetheart, we love seeing you squirming and desperate…_

Fuck, Flynn looked so hot like this, his hair messy and dark and flopping in his eyes a little and Wyatt wanted to get his fingers in it, and his mouth was just—fuck fuck _fuck_ —

He came so hard he woke up.

 

* * *

 

Jess did not sound happy to be answering her phone. “Hey, Wyatt, everything okay?” she asked in the tone of someone who meant _you’d better be dying_.

“I’m sorry.” Wyatt grimaced into the phone. “I shouldn’t—never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Jess asked. Wyatt thought he heard a sleepy second voice, and then Jess shushed someone tenderly.

Holy shit. “Jess, are you—”

“What’s going on?” Jess asked, cutting him off.

“I—nothing. I thought. I met—there’s this guy. And I. I think I might. Shit.” Wyatt his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“…Wyatt,” Jess said, her voice softer towards him than it had been in ages, “you know—I’m not with a friend, right now.”

Wyatt nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him. It was all right, Jess kept talking anyway.

“I’m with my girlfriend. We weren’t—not until we saw each other in person and we—we admitted how we felt. How we’d been feeling. And it was really scary, when I first realized what I wanted. How I cared about her. But it’s also okay. It’s okay to feel this way and it’s okay to be scared, all right?”

“All—all right.” He wasn’t sure he agreed. Not that he thought Jess was wrong, but just.

His dad, and the army, and…

God, he might vomit.

“Good. Now go back to whatever the fuck you were doing and let me cuddle with my girlfriend.” Jess hung up.

Wyatt lay back in bed and groaned.

 

* * *

 

Lucy was going to lose her goddamn mind.

When she’d accepted Flynn’s proposal to move in together, she’d been overwhelmed with gratitude. She’d been thinking about how like a failure she felt, and how vulnerable she felt, and how despite it all he didn’t make her feel less than, how he made her feel safe.

She hadn’t been thinking at all about how she was going to spend the next month sexually frustrated.

It started out bad enough—seeing Flynn emerging from the shower in just a damn towel slung low on his hips, all of his tattoos on display, tattoos she just wanted to get her goddamn tongue on—and Flynn making dinner and playfully telling her if she really wanted to help she could sit there and keep him company, and Flynn quietly humming as he moved around the space.

But then on the third day she had… well, it was a bad day. And she got heavily drunk on vodka. And passed out.

When she woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, Flynn had water and Advil and coffee waiting for her, told her she was a “gentle and responsive lover,” and then laughed his ass off when she desperately scrambled to remember if she’d finally gotten to fuck him and had been dead-ass drunk for it.

“The look of horror on your face,” he said.

If only he knew.

If she got to fuck him, it would not be gentle. And she wasn’t going to be drunk for it, oh no. Lucy wanted to remember every goddamn detail.

After that she just—couldn’t stop thinking about it. What kind of lover would Flynn be? Responsive, she was sure. Did he want her to be gentle, though? Was that what he thought she wanted?

God, she wanted him any way she could get him. And in every position she could get him. She wanted bite marks on her so brilliant they looked like tattoos themselves.

But of course, God forbid Flynn take the hint.

He was a gentleman, of course he was, but sometimes y’know there was such a thing as being too chivalrous and deciding every hint she was giving was, well, a misreading of the situation.

On the one hand, Lucy was almost relieved. She probably shouldn’t be getting into a relationship right now, and she was still struggling to find a place to live.

But on the other hand…

She never wanted to leave. She wanted Flynn’s coffee in the morning, and his books stacked on the coffee table, and his sketches, and his hugs, and his smile, and even his grumbled, cranky under-his-breath rants.

But she couldn’t have any of that if Flynn wouldn’t _get with the goddamn program._

* * *

 

Flynn half-expected Wyatt to not show up for his tattoo appointment, to be honest. He and Wyatt hadn’t exactly… well. It wasn’t flirting, what they’d been doing. But it wasn’t quite arguing, either.

Sure enough, though, Wyatt showed up—he even came early to chat with Lucy, who was once again perched on the edge of the desk because sitting in a chair was just beyond her abilities, apparently. Wyatt took the chair instead, sprawling out on it with one leg hooked over the arm because the art of sitting in chairs properly was just lost on everyone nowadays.

Flynn raised his eyebrows as he saw Wyatt and Lucy laughing together. Upon seeing him, Wyatt shot right up to standing, going pink in the face. “Hey.”

“You nervous?” Flynn asked.

“Oh, Flynn, don’t tease him.” Lucy gestured at the chair. “It’ll be fine, Wyatt.”

Wyatt did look a little genuinely nervous as he got comfortable, but when Flynn asked him about the pain, Wyatt just grunted. “It’s fine, had a lot worse.”

Flynn had no idea what the flush on Wyatt’s face was for, then.

The thing about doing tattoos was that, in the moment, the person almost faded away. The individual was gone, and it was just the art.

That was why Lucy was good. She could chat with the client and Flynn could just focus on his job.

Except, with Wyatt… dammit, Flynn was intrigued. The guy said he was starting over in his life, and Flynn wanted to know why, and what made him want to anchor himself in his past, and why Wyatt seemed so angry towards Flynn and yet blushed whenever he looked at him.

And so, like with Lucy, he found himself talking, asking questions. Lucy chatted with them too, routinely making Wyatt blush. Dammit, the guy had it bad for Lucy. Flynn couldn’t blame him. And he kept sharing dumb jokes that made Lucy smile.

Flynn couldn’t tell if the hot curl of envy in his gut was for Lucy, or Wyatt. Or both.

Little by little, as the tattoo process went on, the story came out. How Wyatt had gotten a divorce from his wife after years of therapy and trying to fix things, how he’d dropped out of Delta to make it work with Jess and didn’t know what to do with his life now, didn’t want to go back into Delta but didn’t want to let go and ignore the half of his life he’d spent serving. How his dad had been an asshole, and Jess had been his only family, and how he wanted to rebuild, and make friends, and not make his world just about one person.

“I’m glad I’m not… there, anymore,” Wyatt said. “With my dad, or in my childhood, or my hometown, or Delta. And I don’t know who I’m going to become. But I can’t forget any of it. Y’know?”

Flynn nodded. Yeah, he knew.

“If you’re looking for friends,” Lucy said carefully, “next door, at the comic shop, there’s a party tomorrow evening. I’m sure Rufus and Jiya wouldn’t mind if you attended. It’s just a small thing.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. Tomorrow night was Rufus and Jiya’s party and he wasn’t one hundred percent certain but he was pretty damn sure a surprise of some kind was involved, given how much thought Rufus and Jiya were putting into it and how sparing they were on the details about it.

Would they really not mind a stranger coming into their midst?

“I’ll text them and ask,” Lucy then added, pulling out her phone.

“You really don’t have to—” Wyatt started, but Lucy was already typing.

“Sent!” She pocketed her phone again. “Ta-da, soon you’ll have friends.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes but was smiling softly. Flynn thought Wyatt looked best when he was being soft.

“Finished,” he said. “Take a look before I bandage it.”

This was his favorite part—the part where the client saw their finished tattoo for the first time. The reaction was always priceless.

Wyatt didn’t disappoint. His mouth dropped open a little and his blue eyes went wide, and then a puppyish grin slowly crept across his face. “It’s—yeah. Wow. Classic.” He looked up at Flynn. “Thanks.”

“It’s my job.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Take the fucking compliment.”

“Well when you say it so nicely…”

“Boys,” Lucy chastised.

Wyatt glared at him.

Flynn, feeling contrary and a little bit snarky, winked at him.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt was just walking out when an older woman with tan oak skin and a stern but kind face nearly bumped into him. “Whoa, sorry.”

The woman eyed the bandages on his arm. “Another satisfied customer?” she said, her voice loud enough that Lucy, behind Wyatt, could hear it.

Wyatt turned to see Lucy smiling. “You bet. Wyatt, this is Denise. She runs the yarn-sewing-crafting shop thing next door with her wife.”

“Oh, hey, nice.” Wyatt stuck out his hand out for Denise to shake.

“Denise, do you think Rufus and Jiya would mind if Wyatt tagged along to their party on Saturday?” Lucy asked. “I texted them and I’m sure they won’t but…”

“I don’t see why they would,” Denise said.

“Wyatt’s new in town and looking to meet new people,” Lucy said. Wyatt wanted to hug her in relief as she tactfully avoided mentioning the real reasons he was feeling so alone.

Part of it was to distract from the annoying pain—although it hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought and he’d definitely had worse—and part of it was just… Flynn with his intense gaze and Lucy with her soft smile, but he’d ended up spilling his guts like they were in therapy or friends who’d known each other for years. He was grateful they’d put up with it but damn, they probably were glad to see the back of him.

“Well you’re always welcome,” Denise said. “What tattoo did you get?”

Something about her reminded Wyatt of his mom—not his actual mom. That woman had split when Wyatt was three. But the mom he’d imagined for himself when he was a kid, the mom he’d pretended would come one day and pick him up and take him away from his father and to a whole new life.

He’d ended up fixating on Jess to save him instead, and look at how that mess had turned out.

Wyatt explained the tattoo to her, since he couldn’t take off the bandages. “Flynn has a way of taking your ideas and making them better and what you really want.”

Denise gave him a small but warm smile. “Yes, it’s what makes him so popular.”

“I thought it was the gun show.”

Lucy started coughing.

A gray cat streaked past them and Lucy gasped. “Picard! No!”

Denise quickly scooped up the cat, and passed him to Lucy. “He belongs to the comics store, I’ll go return him.”

“He wants to see his mom,” Denise joked.

Lucy carried the purring cat, muttering all the while, “No, this is a punishment cuddle, this is not a happy cuddle, you are being punished.”

Wyatt shuffled his feet, feeling awkward alone with Denise. “So, uh, you and your wife run the shop?”

“Yes. We started it after I left the police force. We were having a kid so I wanted a job that was less life-threatening.”

“I get that. I was in the army for a long time, but I knew I’d get out when I had a kid. If I have a kid.” Wyatt cleared his throat. “This is gonna be stupid since we just met, but—how long have you two been married? That can’t have been easy.”

Denise raised an eyebrow that silently said _I’m going to indulge you today_. “It wasn’t, no. But we make each other happy and that made up for the rest. Love isn’t just an emotion, it’s a choice, and so every day we had to choose to fight for each other. And it’s paid off.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—I just—”

A knowing look came into Denise’s eyes. “You were in the army.”

“…yes ma’am.”

“And you noticed the, how did you put it, gun show.”

Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck and was glad that Flynn was still in the shop and couldn’t see this happening. Or hear it, at any rate.

Denise folded her arms, but not in a defensive way. More like she was establishing a quiet authority. “You’re welcome to come and talk to me, if you’re struggling with that side of yourself.”

Wyatt could feel his eyes going wide. “I—you’d do that?”

Denise shrugged. “We have to help each other out. I was a baby gay in the ‘80s. I didn’t have—the adults in the community, we lost them. I don’t want that to continue.”

She gestured at her store. “If you’ve got nothing going on, you could come in for tea.”

“I’d…” He had nothing going on, actually. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

Wyatt followed Denise into the store.

 

* * *

 

Lucy tried not to be nervous as they entered the comics shop. She wasn’t sure why—these were all people she knew and spent nearly every day with—but it was different, somehow, to arrive at a party with Flynn, together.

“Wow, streamers and everything,” Flynn noted as they entered, looking up at the blue and green streamers strung across the ceiling. “And cake.”

“Is it someone’s birthday?” Lucy asked. “Should we have brought a gift?”

“No, no!” Jiya waved them off. “You’re fine! C’mon in.”

Picard immediately wound around Flynn’s ankles, begging for pets. Lucy went over to help Mason with the food and then turned as the bell jingled and Wyatt entered.

His new tattoo was peeking out from under his sleeve, and Lucy watched as Flynn walked over and asked about it, as Wyatt smiled—was he smiling shyly?—and rolled up his sleeve, showing it off a bit, as Flynn caught hold of Wyatt’s forearm, apparently unconsciously, and started talking about how Wyatt was feeling, proper care, and possibly coming back for a color touch up.

Lucy didn’t think the two men even realized how close they were standing, the way Flynn’s head bent down to Wyatt’s, the way Wyatt blushed.

God, they made a pretty picture together—more than pretty, hot as fuck. And Wyatt seemed like a decent guy, a little lost, struggling to find his way. A lot like how she felt, honestly.

If Flynn wanted… she wouldn’t mind sharing him with someone else. The idea of watching him and Wyatt together was… mmm, yes. And she was pretty sure Wyatt had been flirting with her as well. Getting him in between them sounded…

God, yes.

Of course that was assuming Flynn wanted her as well, and, well. She thought he did? Most of the time she did, anyway, but then other times—he was completely ignoring her hints.

He could have just thought of her as a close friend and she was the one hoping for more, thinking she was seeing more.

Lucy turned away. If that was how it was… she really needed to get over this stupid crush. If Flynn was interested in her he would’ve said something by now. She was working with him, they lived together—he hadn’t done anything romantic, and she’d even had to make the move to hug him, twice.

Lucy saw Rufus and walked over, smiling, throwing herself into conversation with him.

She had to get over Flynn.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt could feel himself heating up all over like an idiot every time Flynn got close to him.

Lucy—she was gorgeous, and whip smart, and kind. Of course he was into her. And of course Flynn was into her, the guy practically had a neon sign over his head screaming _date me date me date me_ at her. But women, Wyatt was used to liking. He’d been married to a woman for years, after all. Liking Lucy felt almost comfortable.

But Flynn—Flynn was like fire in his lungs and he just wanted to roll over and bare his throat and _beg_.

At first, he had a bit of hope with Flynn walking over to him, talking to him, taking his arm, and Wyatt knew he should be feeling a little guilty for moving on so quickly but the divorce had dragged on forever, and if he was honest, his marriage with Jess had been over years ago. They’d been—well, mostly he’d been—clinging to something long dead.

Jess had moved on, anyway.

He was starting to get hopeful with Flynn—and then Mason cleared his throat and clinked his red solo cup with a plastic fork.

Wyatt liked Rufus a lot, and Jiya too, and Mason seemed all right. Wyatt was glad Denise was there. They’d had a good talk the other day, and Michelle was lovely.

“Everyone,” Mason said. “I hope you won’t begrudge me theatrics. I’ve known Rufus ever since I met him at a high school science fair, and he impressed me with how responsible he was. He started working here, and he—he brightened up my life in a way that no one else had.

“I was quite the partyer when I was younger. A new person in my bed every night if I wanted. But it was empty, and I never actually felt any connection to anyone until Rufus. As you can imagine I became rather protective of him.

“And so when this small sprite of a girl came in and stole his heart, well, naturally I had to make sure she was good enough for my boy. And Jiya—Jiya went and stole my heart as well. Not romantically of course, no offense but you alloromantics are ridiculous—but I saw her wit, and her honesty, and her intelligence, and I thought, well, why not informally adopt a daughter as well as a son?

“They’re the most pure hearted people I’ve ever met. They love each other fiercely and aren’t afraid to disagree, to argue, and to work things out. They’re sickeningly adorable and half the time I have to remind them that some of us have just had lunch and would like to not throw it back up again. They support each other, and I couldn’t have picked a better match for either of them if I’d tried.

“And so it is with joy that I am announcing for them, their official engagement—yes, folks, you were tricked into coming to an engagement party.”

Wyatt flushed with embarrassment. Oh, fuck, was he practically crashing an engagement party? He’d just met these people.

All around him everyone exploded with congratulations, hugging Rufus and Jiya and babbling about how dare they not say anything, etc. Wyatt made his way up afterwards, shaking Rufus’s hand in congratulations. “You guys seem like good people, even though we just met. I’m happy for you.”

“Hey, it’s an informal thing,” Jiya said. “And we like meeting new people, growing our friend group.”

“You’re more sociable than Flynn is, anyway,” Rufus joked.

“He seemed—I mean he’s rough around the edges but he talks plenty.”

Rufus grinned. “To you, maybe.”

Wyatt looked over at Flynn, who was handing Lucy a slice of cake. Was it only to him? Did Flynn really—could he—was Wyatt not mistaking things?

After some of the excitement died down and everyone was just chatting, Wyatt looked for Flynn and found him in the stacks, flipping through a _Deadpool_ comic. “Hey.”

Flynn looked up, putting the comic back on the shelf. “Hey yourself.”

“I’m not being too bold by being here, right?”

“Nah.” Flynn shook his head. “You’re fine. Rufus and Jiya told Lucy was okay, they trust her judgment on people. And it wasn’t too long ago that she was new to us, it’s only been a couple of months. It’s just been the six of us for so long, and I know Rufus and Jiya want new friends.” He paused. “Lucy does, too. She’s starting her life over, same as you, and so… it’s good, that you’re here.”

Wyatt could hear the layer underneath—not a warning, not a _be nice to her or else_ , but just a gentle reminder that if he was going to make a play for Lucy’s heart, to be gentle with it, that he could be good for her, but not if he was reckless.

“What about you?” Wyatt asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “For a ‘Merican, you’re not too bad,” he said, doing a horrible attempt at a Southern accent.

Wyatt laughed. “Glad to hear it. I’m… I’m still learning about… how to be. Who to be. After all the toxic shit I was for years.”

“All we can do is try.”

Wyatt looked up into Flynn’s face—Jesus, the guy was good looking. And always wearing these dumb fucking wifebeater tops that showed off his arms and collarbones and just—argh. All of it.

“I…” Wyatt swallowed, unable to look away. Flynn’s eyes were green, he realized belatedly. Huh. “I’m learning a lot about myself, stuff I didn’t let myself think about. Like how I… how I’m drawn towards… people.” He took a deep breath. “Men.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow.

“But you don’t really know until you try, right?” Wyatt added weakly, intimidated by Flynn’s silence.

“Right.” Flynn’s voice was oddly flat. “Good luck with that.”

He then walked past Wyatt, leaving Wyatt wondering what the fuck had just happened.

 

* * *

 

It was… awkward, that night, in the apartment.

Not that Flynn hadn’t been slowly dying this whole time. Lucy was—she was—her—

God, when she would emerge from the shower, pink and soft and warm, or when she would wake up next to him, her eyes large and dark and trusting, or when she would be curled up on the couch and laughing at something he said, teeth flashing, eyes crinkled in the corners…

He wanted her so badly he ached with it. Not just—not just in a sexual way, although, all right, that too, but in his arms at night, where he could just hold her properly, breathe in her shampoo. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand, he wanted to curl up with her on the couch, he wanted to bring her flowers and wine just because he felt like it.

But Lucy wouldn’t… she wouldn’t want that, he’d be taking advantage of her. He’d taken her into his home, if he did anything… she might think that she owed him, that she didn’t have a choice, that he’d kick her out if she didn’t give into him.

He couldn’t do that to her.

It wasn’t too awkward, though, or at least Flynn didn’t think it had been, until tonight.

Lucy was oddly distant and quiet. Which—Flynn was pretty quiet himself, usually, but this was different. It was like Lucy was holding herself back.

Flynn was actually feeling pretty… frustrated and mixed up, just on his own already. Wyatt was.

Well.

Wyatt was clearly at a crossroads in his life, and Flynn could empathize with that. He felt like he’d been at a crossroads for years, and was only just now starting to pick a path—even if he didn’t know entirely where that path was leading.

And he did appreciate that Denise seemed to be taking Wyatt under her wing. He’d seen Wyatt go into Denise’s shop the other day and only emerge a couple of hours later, looking a bit puffy and red around the eyes.

Okay, and yes, he was attracted to Wyatt. Hugely, stupidly attracted to him.

But he wasn’t anyone’s goddamn experiment.

If Wyatt was unsure about his sexuality and needed more time to figure it out then great, but Flynn didn’t fancy being used in that way. Flynn didn’t do casual sex, he never had. But even if he did—he wasn’t going to make out or sleep with someone just so that person could prove a point to themselves.

Lucy was quiet all night, and Flynn was as well. He wasn’t sure what had happened between them to make her so insular, so retracted into herself. Maybe it was him? Was she sensing his frustration with Wyatt?

For the first time since she’d moved in with him, Flynn felt truly like they were out of place. Lucy crept into bed early, and even though he was sure she wasn’t sleeping, she had her eyes closed and was turned away, a small ball under the blankets.

He stayed up a little while longer, doodling tattoos. Drawing without thought at first, and then realizing he was drawing tattoos he might give to Wyatt, or tattoos for himself, about Lucy.

Austen quotes, mostly, for the latter. Some Neruda. A bird, taking flight.

For Wyatt, he drew trees. Wyatt had talked about going out into the woods on long walks with his grandfather, and he’d admired Flynn’s trees on his forearm. He drew a martini glass because Wyatt had gushed about James Bond.

He was careful to take all the sketches and burn them before going to bed.

He didn’t want Lucy to see either set.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt didn’t plan on stopping by so regularly, but after kind-of-crashing their engagement party, he felt he had to be a friend to Rufus and Jiya.

And, well, he liked them.

Rufus recommended comic books to him, and Jiya would make him drop and do ten push-ups every time he said something sexist.

“It’s like spritzing a dog with water,” she said, when Mason emerged from the back office and just raised his eyebrows slowly in defeat.

Denise was always there to talk, and there was… well there was Lucy and Flynn.

Wyatt found that—aside from his stupid crush on the guy—he liked watching Flynn do tattoos and started wondering if maybe he’d like to try it himself.

Flynn was less than encouraging. “It’s not easy.”

“It’s the arts, of course it’s not easy,” Wyatt retorted.

“Boys,” Lucy said warningly, not looking up from her biography on Cesare Borgia.

Wyatt couldn’t figure Flynn out. The guy would be warm and soft one minute and then biting and acerbic the next.

Of course, Wyatt getting his panties in a twist (to quote Flynn) and firing back at him half the time probably didn’t help.

He didn’t plan on stopping by so often, but before he knew it…

This stupid indie shop row was more his home than his own damn apartment.

 

* * *

 

Lucy sighed with relief as she collapsed into bed. Flynn was out for an hour, so she had time to finally… take care of something.

She hadn’t had a chance to really pleasure herself since moving in with him. As if she hadn’t already been struggling with Flynn so intimately in her life, now she couldn’t even rub out a quick one unless he was guaranteed to be gone—and since Flynn was such a homebody, he wasn’t gone often.

And she really, really needed to have a little time to herself.

Lucy settled in bed, slowly peeling her clothes off, taking her time now that she could. Mmm, what to think about…

Almost immediately a fantasy presented itself—one that she knew that she shouldn’t think about, not while she was sharing an apartment with him, but…

His hands sliding over her, guiding her into the chair…

Lucy’s breath caught as she slid her shirt up, imagining herself telling Flynn, _right here,_ having him open her jeans and drag them down a bit, his fingers running along the soft skin at the juncture of her thigh.

 _You sure you don’t want it here?_ He’d tease her, of course he would, his hand sliding up underneath her shirt, fingers just brushing the underside of her breast as he rubbed his thumb along her ribs.

She’d had this fantasy about him since she’d first met him, even though he’d been insufferable. His hands all over her… his mouth…

Lucy slid her hand between her legs, the other going up to cup her breast, to swipe over the nipple. Flynn’s hands everywhere, large and firm and dexterous, spreading her legs, his mouth kissing up the side of her neck, whispering in her ear to relax, take deep breaths, _I’ll take care of you_ , everything they’d done when she’d gotten her tattoo twisted and turned erotic.

Getting a tattoo hadn’t exactly been fun in the sense that it had hurt, it wasn’t sexy in and of itself, but Flynn’s hands on her body, his complete concentration, the way he’d licked at his lower lip as he focused, the way his hands had gripped the equipment and handled everything… that had definitely been sexy.

She wanted those fingers inside of her, imagining they were the ones working her as she started to finger herself, her thumb rubbing at her clit. She wanted to whisper instructions, tell him how to touch her, to make it a little rough, to grab him by the hair and kiss him until their lips were bitten red.

Lucy added another finger, arching a little, speeding up, picturing her fingers digging into the chair as Flynn spread her legs and kissed slowly down her body, lingering, until she was squirming and begging, ordering him to get on with it, to put his mouth where she really wanted him, _please…_

He’d wait, he’d tease and wait until she said please, until she caved and begged a little, and then he’d finally slide his tongue down between her legs, along her clit, twist it into her—

Lucy’s chest heaved, a flush steadily spreading down from her face to her neck as she finished playing with her nipples to reach her hand up and tug at her hair. She’d have to convince Flynn to do that, she was pretty sure, assure him that he could get a little rough, she wanted it, craved it, pull her hair bite her thigh scrape his teeth over her clit God _yes_ please—

She moved faster, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, imagining him making her come, his mouth slick with her, and she’d kiss it off him she’d kiss it all off of him tangy and bittersweet and she’d rip those goddamn tight jeans off him and he’d pin her arms down on the chair and fuck her and fuck, _fuck_ , yes thick and stretching her and she’d kiss him slick and messy and a little sloppy and he’d bite her shoulder as he came and oh God oh fuck—Lucy moaned violently and shuddered, her entire hand soaked as she came.

Hoo God.

Lucy pulled her hand away, letting both her arms flop onto the bed, her chest heaving and shaking as she sucked in huge gulps of air.

She wanted him so goddamn badly.

Not that she’d ever actually get to have him fuck her in the tattoo chair, of all places, Flynn would probably be scandalized at the suggestion, but it was a hell of an image and it was the one time he’d dared to touch her, his hands sliding over her bare skin without thought, just that deep, dark, intense stare.

A fantasy, that was all it was. Flynn had made his desire to keep his distance from her painfully clear, his charity and compassion not to be confused with any actual romantic feelings for her. She had to respect that, as much as it hurt.

The haze of orgasm now marred by the bitter pill of reality, Lucy hauled herself up off the bed and went to clean herself off. She’d better open up a window, too, spray a little Febreze, air everything out.

Still, a nice fantasy.

And probably a sign she needed to find a new place so she could indulge in it without the guilt of knowing it was her roommate she was thinking about.

 

* * *

 

Flynn briskly mounted the steps to the apartment, equipment from his shopping in the back room, and the small bag of groceries clutched in his hand.

As he reached the door that led into the apartment, he heard a startled squeak and he froze.

Was Lucy—she sounded like she’d heard his steps and freaked out. What could she be doing that she didn’t want him to see?

Flynn carefully opened the door, a thousand possibilities whizzing through his mind.

Lucy was standing by an open window, her hair tousled, eyes shining, lips bitten red and an odd flush to her face that spread all the way down her chest. Steam emerged from the bathroom, like the shower had just been running, and her clothes were sticking to her oddly, like she’d thrown them back on while her skin was still damp.

“You’re back early,” Lucy said. She stayed hovering by the window, rather than walking over to help with the grocery bag the way she normally would.

Flynn eyed her, confused, as he walked over to the kitchen and started to put things away. “Ended up not having to go across town to get something. Everything all right?”

“Yup, everything’s fine.” Lucy’s eyes darted over to the bed and then back to him, her flush deepening.

Flynn put the orange juice in the fridge, bending over and using the opportunity to glance at the bed.

The sheets were flattened on one side in the vague shape of a person, which made sense if Lucy had just taken a nap, but didn’t explain…

Flynn straightened up and closed the door to the fridge, saw Febreze on the counter, and was metaphorically hit in the face with the frying pan of realization.

Oddly rumpled sheets? The open window and a scented air freshener? Lucy having just taken a shower and embarrassed and, frankly, looking terrified that he’d come home unexpectedly?

…ohhhhhhhhhkay.

Flynn braced his hand on the counter, keeping himself half turned away from her as heat flooded him. Not that—he knew that—of course Lucy would—she was an adult, she was healthy, she had a sex drive as most people did, not that he—he _assumed_ she had a sex drive, that was all, of course she would—and they didn’t have much chance for privacy, not that he touched himself all that often to begin with but—and she was welcome to, of course, but that wasn’t the kind of thing one just asked one’s roommate, _hey could you clear out for an hour or two so I can masturbate_ …

Flynn quickly shoved the other groceries into the cupboards and turned around. Lucy was staring at him, still flushed, chewing on her bottom lip.

It was like lightning in his veins, the desire to cross to her and go _show me, show me what you want,_ to throw himself at her feet and beg to see her, watch her, be shown how to touch her. Knowing that she’d just been—the images that presented, holy fuck, the noises she must’ve been making—

Wow it was hot in this room.

“I’m just going to go down and say hi to Mason,” Flynn blurted out.

“Right, no, great, right,” Lucy replied, sounding like she was struggling not to choke.

“I’ll be back in—in twenty minutes, probably.”

“Of course, yup, have—say hi, for me.”

He turned and tried to walk normally, slowly, not like he was rushing.

Then he just went downstairs, into the back room, braced himself against the wall and used every drip of determination to will down his goddamn erection.

He did go and see Mason, and ended up spending about an hour debating the early blues music movement with him. By the time he came back to the apartment, the bed was made, Lucy’s hair was up in a ponytail, and she was making stir fry, singing along to the radio.

Flynn’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest, stopping him from breathing for a second.

The urge to cross to her now was even stronger than before, just watching Lucy be herself.

Flynn crossed to the couch instead and picked up his book, humming along idly to the song, and pretended to read while really watching her.

He was so screwed, from every angle.

 

* * *

 

Lucy was perched on the desk while Wyatt flipped through Flynn’s portfolio, sitting in the chair, when she got the WhatsApp texts from Amy.

“Seriously,” Wyatt was saying, “do you think I could do it? I think I could do it. I mean I’m shit at drawing but you just gotta start practicing right? And you get better and better?”

“Mmm,” Lucy said, opening the texts.

 

_Hey Lucy,_

_Saying this over text first because if I try to say it in person over Skype I’m gonna start crying because hey surprise! I’m a sap! You’re shocked I know._

_I am hoping we can Skype later, though. Cuz I wuv youuuuuu._

Lucy snorted in amusement, wondering what could be making her sister cry. Was everything okay? Had she lost her job? But that didn’t fit the ‘sap’ definition…

 

_So, remember my friend that was coming here to do this big piece on New Zealand and she was staying with me? The one who I told you I really really had this massive crush on but she’d never like me back and even if she might she’d just gotten out of a divorce and there was no way she’d want to be in a relationship so soon?_

_Turns out I was wrong about that._

_I’m so happy, Lucy I’m so happy. She’s funny and gorgeous and a little older but don’t freak out, it’s fine, she’s just really mature and she calls me her starshine and God I’m so in love it feels like I can’t breathe half the time._

_And we were hoping we could come and visit?_

_She wants to see her ex. He’s a good guy and they’re trying to be friends again and he’s been all alone so she wants to check on him in person. And I want to see you. And introduce you two. I think you’d really like her._

_I really like her._

_Here’s a picture of us when we went on a hike._

 

Attached was a photo of two women. One, Lucy instantly recognized as Amy, smiling, her hair pulled back, holding the camera up for a selfie. The other was a blonde, slightly taller, with a fun long bob cut and a pert slightly turned-up nose and big eyes. She was grinning too, her arm around Amy’s waist.

They looked cozy and happy.

“My sister has a girlfriend,” Lucy said, grinning. God, she was so happy for Amy. A little sad, that she wasn’t there for it all in person, that her sister had to make a special trip to introduce her girlfriend, but still. Amy deserved to be happy like this.

She typed out a quick reply and then pulled up the picture to show Wyatt. “Look.”

Wyatt took the phone from her—and then nearly dropped it. “Holy—what—fuck!”

“What, what is it?”

Wyatt looked up at her, his eyes wide. “That’s—Lucy—Lucy that’s my ex-wife, that’s Jessica.”

Lucy gaped at him. She’d known about Jess, of course. Wyatt talked about her fondly, and Lucy personally suspected that he had hung onto Jess for so long not because he’d been in love with her the whole time but because Jess was also his best friend, and his only friend, his only good thing in his life, for so long and Wyatt hadn’t known how to separate that from romance and sex.

Wyatt had a lot to learn, but he was trying.

But Jess and… Amy? What?

A suspicion formed in her mind. “Wyatt, how did you find this tattoo parlor?”

“Jess recommended it to me after I told her I wanted a tattoo. She got the name from her girlfriend—”

“—Amy, who also recommended this place to me,” Lucy finished. “Amy got her tattoo from Flynn ages ago, she found him through the Instagram that Jiya set up.”

Holy shit.

Flynn walked over, having just finished up with a client. “What are you two looking red in the face for?”

“My ex-wife is dating Lucy’s sister,” Wyatt said, his voice strangled.

Flynn snorted. “You only just figured that out? I’ve known for weeks.”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “What—how!?”

“Uh, all the context clues? Jess went to New Zealand to visit an internet friend she’s known for two years. Amy has just welcomed into her home an internet friend she’s known for two years. Jess is in New Zealand partially for work on a blog series. Amy’s friend is a blogger. Jess used to bartend, so does Amy’s friend. How did neither of you put it together?”

“I need a drink,” Wyatt said faintly.

Lucy felt like the world had started running backwards, spinning in the opposite direction. “Make mine a double.”

Flynn just chuckled fondly. “I can’t wait for them to visit so I can witness this in person.”

Lucy, grinning, flipped him off.

 

* * *

 

“Where should I get my next tattoo?”

Flynn glanced up from the computer where he was arguing with some idiots over the internet about why you shouldn’t do tattoo parties—drunk bastards were going to infect themselves someday, honestly—to see Lucy lounging back against the desk.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “It’s your body, not mine.”

“I was thinking here?” she said, trailing her fingers along her collarbone. “Or maybe a little lower?” Her fingers suited the action to the word, sliding along the swell of her breast as it peeked out of the v-neck shirt she was wearing.

Flynn’s mouth went bone dry. She was—she really needed to—did she have any idea what she did to him when she did things like that?

“It depends on what tattoo you want to get,” he said, swallowing hard and ignoring the tightness in his pants. “You’ll want to figure out what you want to get before you think about where to put it. It might end up being something you don’t want everyone to know about.”

Lucy dropped her hand, scoffing but smiling as she did it. “That’s rich coming from you, y’know, your tattoos are where everyone can see them.”

“Not all of them.”

Flynn bent down, rolling up the cuff of his pants, then tugging down his sock to show her his ankle.

Lucy bent down and saw the cross. “It’s the third tattoo I got,” he said. “Lorena designed it. After—after my mom died. She was—she didn’t struggle in her faith, the way I did. Do.”

The cross was black and white, looking like a sketch, and rather than just a cross, it was like someone had used two sticks to make the cross—and the sticks had kept growing despite it all, flowing off the cross, softening the harsh lines of it, suggesting growth and nature rather than the brick and mortar of the church.

“Faith for me is… ever changing, and a bit of a struggle, so…” Flynn shrugged. “But it’s still important to me, so I put it somewhere I wouldn’t have to answer questions or have people make assumptions.”

He covered it up again, then gestured at his arms. “These, though, I don’t mind anyone seeing. They’re important to me but nobody’s going to guess why and they’re fun conversation starters.”

“So you didn’t pick them because you’re a Tolkien nerd?” Lucy teased.

Flynn swallowed. “Ah…” He might as well tell her, at this point. “They’re… partly because of that, but partly… they’re my way of remembering the war.”

Lucy looked startled, blinking rapidly, and then a knowing look came into her eyes. “Because Tolkien wrote _Lord of the Rings_ in response to World War I.”

Flynn nodded. The quote on his left arm was from a larger speech that Samwise Gamgee made to Frodo Baggins, about how the darkness couldn’t last. The quote on his right arm, with the dragon, came from a poem that ended with _the crownless again shall be king_.

It had all seemed… fitting.

“I have another one that’s a more direct reference to my time.” He lifted his shirt and showed her the simple tattoo on his hip. “I picked a bad place to get a first tattoo if I was looking for less pain,” he admitted, grimacing at the memory. “But all the buddies in my unit got one too. It’s our unit number.”

It was just the simple black letters: _M2918_. Nothing fancy or artistic about them.

“I’m glad I got that one where people can’t see it, since it clearly references something specific and people are going to ask about it.”

Lucy swallowed, and he saw her fingers twisting around and over each other, a sure sign she was nervous. “Can I… can I ask about the tattoos on your chest?”

Of course she’d seen them. After sharing an apartment together for a couple months, how could she not?

If she’d asked him the first day of knowing him, or even the first couple of weeks, Flynn would’ve said no. Those tattoos… they were the last ones that Lorena had ever drawn for him. The top one was supposed to be for their anniversary, and the bottom in celebration of Iris’s seventh birthday.

Iris never turned seven.

Flynn took his shirt off, since he might as well to show the full tattoos. Over his heart, on the left side of his chest, was a watercolor style paintbrush, a rainbow of colors splashed over his skin coming from the brush, the colors flowing down into the second tattoo below—a layered watercolor style iris flower, the stem forming the word _Iris_ in thin green ink.

“The paintbrush is for Lorena,” he said. “My… my wife. She was an artist. The flower is an Iris, for my daughter.”

“I heard about… about you having a wife and child,” Lucy admitted, her voice hushed. “And that they died. But that was all.”

Flynn nodded. “She was participating in an arts fair. I was usually there to help her set up but… I had this expo I wanted to go to. Lorena insisted I go, that it was fine, so we took two cars. I was a little late and on the way I saw… I saw this car by the road, it had spun out and hit a tree and was smoking… I tried to pull them out but—the paramedics said they died almost instantly which was—they said it like it was supposed to be a relief.” Flynn realized his chest was getting tight, his voice rough, his vision blurry, and he took several deep breaths.

Lucy reached out and took his hand, letting him squeeze as tightly as he wanted.

“So it became… a way to remember them. Not many people see them since they’re under the shirt but even if they do… the iris is the national flower of Croatia, and the paintbrush… that could be about my own art. It’s not their names exactly, or their faces, so there’s no awkwardness.”

“Especially if you bring someone home,” Lucy teased.

Flynn snorted. Fat chance of that. He’d never been much of a ladykiller, so to speak, and hadn’t been interested in anyone since Lorena died—not until Lucy and then Wyatt had come along.

And it wasn’t like he really had a chance with Lucy, and he wasn’t going to give his heart to Wyatt when Wyatt just wanted to experiment.

Some kind of odd shadow crossed over Lucy’s face. Then she said, “What about the raven?”

“The raven?” Flynn put on a serious expression. “That’s a tattoo gifted only to those who reach the twelve level of the Order of the Raven King.”

Lucy’s eyes went wide. “Wait, really? What? What’s that?”

Flynn couldn’t keep up his serious expression and burst out laughing, covering his eyes for a second. “No, no…” He calmed down, shaking his head and dropping his hand, still grinning at her. “I’m fucking with you. I just liked it, I thought it was a cool design.”

Lucy gaped for a second, then hit him lightly in the shoulder, laughing. “You’re an asshole.”

“You say that like this is new information.”

“Okay but—you seem to have kind of—most tattoo artists I know have a lot more tattoos. Like full sleeves.” Lucy’s fingers trailed down from his shoulder down his arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Flynn was pretty sure this was what having a heart attack felt like. “But you’ve got… what, all of your legs, most of your chest and arms, all bare.”

Flynn cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I had plans to get more… tattoos in time, but it—didn’t work out.”

Lorena had planned out some ideas for what to help him get, what she’d sketch for him. Maybe one a year like an anniversary thing.

The words slipped out of him before he could rethink them. “Would you design one for me?”

Lucy’s fingers left his arm as she jumped a little, startled. Her other hand still held onto his, though, clinging a little. “Do you—are you sure? What would you want?”

Flynn had collaborated with Lorena, but he didn’t want those tattoos they’d thought up anymore. Those were for him and Lorena, and Lorena was gone.

Most of his tattoos were about relationships. His mother, his unit, his girls. He wanted to ask Lucy to think of something for the two of them. But that might be… too intimate for her.

“I trust you. Something that you just think of, artistically, that you think would fit me.”

Lucy blushed slightly. “I don’t know if I’m a good enough artist.”

“You are.” He squeezed her hand and then let go, grabbing his shirt and putting it back on. “You want to grab lunch?”

Lucy blinked up at him, startled, then nodded. “Sure.”

He could be imagining it, but he thought her voice trembled.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt waited until Lucy was on her lunch break to corner Flynn about it. “Any particular reason you’re avoiding me?”

He’d noticed it for weeks now. How Flynn would only be with Wyatt if Lucy was there, like some kind of buffer. If it had been the other way around, Wyatt would’ve thought that Flynn was jealous of Wyatt and Lucy, of the connection. And Wyatt was ass over teakettle for her, no doubt, but Flynn didn’t seem to mind that. It was Wyatt himself that Flynn seemed to have a problem with.

Flynn was currently putting some stuff away in the front desk, and just raised his eyebrows like Wyatt was asking why the sky had just turned green. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yeah, fuck that.” Wyatt got right in front of him, glaring. “Is this because I said I was attracted to you?”

“I don’t remember you saying that.”

“I implied it.”

“So you’re attracted to me, good for you.” Flynn tried to move past him but Wyatt got in the way.

“Seriously. I mean—if it was just—if you don’t like me then tell me so but whatever this half-flirting half-running away bullshit is—”

“I’m not running away.”

“Really?” Wyatt put his hands on his hips. “Then why are you trying to walk away right now?”

Flynn glared at him. “Wyatt. I’m not going to do this.”

“Admit you don’t want me, huh? Just admit it and I’ll back down but stop it with your—your—your stupid touching me and looking at me and—”

Flynn gave him a look of such heat that Wyatt thought he might melt on the spot. He poked Flynn in the chest. “Like that! See! Those looks!”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re annoying.”

“So are you.”

“At least I can admit to it.” Wyatt folded his arms. “I don’t understand why every time I get close you then push me away, but then you’re all—touching me and letting me close again. Do you think you’re so great, Mr. Badass with your tattoos and—”

“If you’re saying I think you couldn’t handle me, then you’re right.” Flynn smirked. “Fresh out of the closet, fresh out of a relationship, you were only with, what, one woman your entire life, hell yeah I know you can’t handle me.”

Wyatt shoved him lightly. “Fuckin’ try me, I could handle you. You think you’re protecting me or something? Holding yourself back so that poor Wyatt won’t get his head in a whirl?”

“You are playing a very dangerous game.”

Wyatt tilted his chin up. “A game you started. _Try me_.”

Flynn grabbed him, yanking him in and spinning him around, pinning him to the desk as he kissed Wyatt like brimstone and blood and war.

Wyatt snarled into it, getting his hands around the back of Flynn and digging his nails into Flynn’s shoulder blades, in the wings of the raven on Flynn’s back, heat shooting through him like lightning. Flynn’s thigh shoved Wyatt’s legs open and Wyatt bit Flynn’s lip hard in retaliation. Fuck, _fuck_ , Flynn’s thigh now pushed up right against Wyatt’s cock and that was—that was—

Flynn tugged at Wyatt’s ear with his teeth, growling, jerking his hips roughly. “ _Natjerat ću te da moliš za mene_ ,” he whispered, the words unknown to Wyatt but his tone absolutely fucking filthy.

Wyatt rolled his hips, not even caring about finesse or the mess of it, just seeking those sparks between his legs, up his spine. He could feel Flynn hard against him too, felt how thick Flynn was, and fuck he wanted that inside of him so badly he couldn’t even see properly anymore.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, throat raw, even as they continued to claw and yank at each other, their hips moving frantically. “Fuck me, Flynn, c’mon, _fuck me_ —”

Flynn groaned and kissed him to shut him up, his tongue sliding into Wyatt’s mouth and laying siege, and then his hand slid down underneath Wyatt’s jeans to squeeze his ass and Wyatt lost his goddamn mind and came in his jeans like a fourteen-year-old.

Flynn didn’t stop moving, although he growled like a fucking tiger or something, using Wyatt to get off and Wyatt didn’t mind in the slightest, fucking gagged for it, only disappointed that it was still with all of their damn clothes on instead of inside him.

Wyatt wanted to enjoy the afterglow—well, whatever afterglow there could be after a goddamn hump session like that—for a second, but Flynn practically shoved himself off Wyatt, still panting, two spots of bright red standing out high up on his cheeks. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s what we did.”

Flynn shook his head. “I don’t—I’m not doing this.”

“Not doing what?”

Flynn pointed at him. “You just got out of a divorce, Wyatt, I’m not going to be a rebound.”

“What, just because I got out of another relationship means I’m not allowed to be legitimate in how I feel?”

“No, it means you—I don’t do casual, all right?”

“I’m not asking for casual.”

“That’s what you say now.”

“And I mean it!” Wyatt glared at him. “I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the goddamn shed here but I know what I want and you don’t get to decide that for me.”

“You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Bullshit.”

“We just—Christ Wyatt we just—in public—anyone walking in off the street could’ve seen that, we were in front of the window, why did I—” Flynn scrubbed a hand across his face. “Jesus Christ how the fuck do you always get in my fucking head.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wyatt snapped. “I’m not an idiot. I know what I want, apparently you’re the one who doesn’t.”

“Listen.” Flynn was clearly trying to gentle his voice and stay patient. “This is all new, I get it—”

“Don’t you patronize to me,” Wyatt said. “Don’t you dare. I don’t know who I am or what I want and I haven’t for years until—the only thing I know I want since I—is when I walked into this place and saw you and Lucy, so don’t—you know what, fuck this.”

“Everything okay?”

Wyatt turned to see Lucy entering the shop. He had no idea how much she’d heard, but she could tell by their faces and heaving chests that something was wrong.

“Yeah.” Wyatt carefully moved past her, wincing a little at the mess still in his goddamn jeans of all the fucking— “I was just leaving.”

He’d just… stay away from the tattoo parlor for a while. Just. Just for a few days. A week, maybe.

Yeah.

 

* * *

 

Lucy didn’t mean to find it, but she was cleaning some stuff out in the apartment—their apartment, really, in all but name, as they both managed to avoid actually bringing up the subject of Lucy’s moving out—she found a pile of sketchbooks.

At first she thought they were empty, but when she sat down to flip through them, she found they were filled with sketches.

Breathtaking sketches, too, gorgeous, in pencil and pastel and charcoal and pen, oil and watercolor, sketches that… she realized… looked familiar.

Some were simpler, smaller versions of art that hung on the walls in the parlor downstairs. Others were in Flynn’s portfolios on the front desk for clients to peruse.

And then she opened the page that contained a raven, wings spread wide, coming in for a landing, and saw the signature at the bottom right and she knew.

Flynn walked in and found her sitting on the couch, sketchbooks closed on the coffee table in front of her. He stopped, staring.

“I didn’t realize what they were,” Lucy said quietly. “I didn’t mean to pry. But I didn’t want to pretend I hadn’t read them.”

Flynn walked over slowly, as if in a daze. “I haven’t… looked at them since. I sort of just shoved them to the side.” He winced, and sat down on the other end of the couch. “Not a good way to honor her memory, I know.”

Lucy’s gaze flicked over the tattoos she could see, knowing more lurked underneath. “Did she design all of your tattoos?”

“Not my first. I got that before I met her. All the others, yes. That’s how I met her. I was at a local art fair, and saw her dragon painting, and asked if I could use it for my tattoo—I’d been toying with the idea, to commemorate the war in my own head, what I went through, and we talked and she agreed and then—halfway through the conversation I had the thought of _oh God, I like her_ , and after that it was… well.” Flynn smiled self-deprecatingly. “It took me a stupidly long time to ask her out. Lorena was very patient.”

“She designed your tattoos for you.”

Flynn nodded. “She designed the paintbrush and the flower, but I didn’t get them until after her death. We were—we were a team. She did the art, I did the tattooing. After her death it was… it was hard to find my own creative spark.”

“So you let the shop fall into oblivion.”

There was a pause, and then Flynn said, his voice a near-whisper, “I know I have Jiya to thank for still getting customers.”

Lucy nodded. She wasn’t surprised that he’d figured it out.

She couldn’t help but wonder—Lorena had designed all of Flynn’s tattoos. And he’d asked Lucy to design a tattoo for him. Could that mean…? Did he…?

Lucy gently closed the door on that train of thought. This wasn’t the time to ask. Not now, as Flynn opened his heart even further, showed her the stitches in the scarring.

Maybe later.

But in the meantime…

She dared to reach out, and take his hand, close her fingers around his.

Flynn didn’t say anything, but he clung like a drowning man.

They sat there, just holding hands, until the setting sun painted the room red.

 

* * *

 

Denise raised an eyebrow at Flynn as he entered. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Your cat is the only reason I visit,” Flynn replied, bending down to pet Snurgle (named by Mark and Olivia years ago), the mother of Picard.

Flynn and Denise had gotten off to… a rocky start. Denise had assumed that Flynn, with his tattoo parlor, was going to be bringing a rowdy, drunken crowd around all the time and didn’t want her kids near that. Flynn had been angry at the stereotyping, harsh words had been exchanged, and they hadn’t spoken for months until Michelle had decided to play peacemaker and had gone over to the parlor armed with freshly baked cookies.

Since then they’d worked their way up to a kind of cranky Spock-and-Bones friendship, snarking at each other but ready to defend the other from outsiders, namely people who had things to say about Flynn’s job and accent and just as many things to say about Michelle’s ethnic background and her sexuality.

Michelle passed through, her arms full of supplies. “Hey, Flynn.”

He grinned at her. “Hey, better half.”

Denise glared at him. “Spill it, Flynn, you’re here for a reason.”

He kind of hated how Denise could see right through him. Mason was good for rambling about life, and dumping about bullshit while listening to jazz, but if you wanted straight up advice you went to Denise—which came with an uncomfortable side of her mind reading abilities.

Flynn straightened up. “I just… Wyatt and Lucy.”

He didn’t have to say anything more. Denise nodded knowingly. “Ah.”

“Lucy lives with me, Denise, what the fuck am I supposed to do about that?”

“Most people do the whole moving in thing _after_ the first date,” Michelle said, walking past them again.

“Yes, thank you, very helpful,” Flynn shot back.

“She’s right,” Denise said, leaning forward on the counter and bracing her elbows on it. “Flynn, we all thought you three were together until we realized that you were still such an idiot you hadn’t said anything. Your goo goo eyes can be seen from space.”

“Clearly, they can’t be, if Lucy hasn’t said anything.”

“She’s not the one with a dead wife and child, Flynn.”

That was—a very fair point.

“You have to make the move with her, Flynn,” Denise said, her tone gentling. “She’s got her own hang ups. We all do. But she didn’t lose someone the way that you did. You’re the one who lost a wife, you need to step up and say that you’re ready to move on.” She paused. “And you need to make the move with Wyatt, too, he’s never done this before.”

Flynn cleared his throat, leaning against the counter. “I might have… done something.”

Denise eyed him suspiciously. “What, exactly, is it that you did?”

“I…” Flynn shifted a little, uneasy under her piercing stare. “We might have… ah… made out.”

 _Making out_ was certainly the least of what they’d done. He could still feel Wyatt’s body burning underneath him, the way Wyatt had clawed at him and whimpered and responded like he’d never even been touched like that before.

Flynn winced at the look on Denise’s face. Denise closed her eyes, obviously mentally prayed for patience, and then opened her eyes again. “And what happened, after that?”

“…we had an argument?” Flynn felt like he was getting caught pulling a prank in school again.

“How are you so hopeless at this,” Denise muttered. “So you made out with him and then, what, you two fought over Lucy or something?”

Flynn almost wished that had been what had happened. “We had a bit of a disagreement on… well. I can’t do casual.”

“And who said Wyatt was looking for casual?” Denise asked.

Flynn opened his mouth, gaped at her like a fish for a second, then closed it. “He didn’t—he just got out of a divorce. I’m not going to be a rebound.”

“The man has been following you around like an actual lost puppy for months, Garcia! Months!”

Ah, the use of his first name, he was really in trouble.

“Did he say he wanted casual?” Denise asked. “Or did you just assume that? Because from what I’m hearing it sounds like you assumed it and you and I both know what that word means.”

Denise was in fact the one who, in the middle of an argument, had told him the whole _assume makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’_ bit.

Then her face gentled. “If you’re the one who’s not ready…”

Flynn swallowed, his throat rough and dry. “I… I think I am.” He swallowed again, looking away, then looked back. “I’ve come to start to accept that I’ll never see my little girl again. That I’ll never see either of them. And that I have to find some way to wake up each morning, open my eyes, and just… keep going. And it was so hard at first but I found it getting… easier, when they came. Waking up doesn’t feel like a weight on my chest anymore. And that’s it’s own kind of… war, realizing that I’m used to it. It feels like a betrayal, like I’m failing them, like maybe I didn’t love them enough. And I that’s—that’s on me, not on anyone else, and I’m trying to live with it, one day at a time.

“But how do I… how do I even… start, with this? How do I let them—how do I put that on them? Wyatt just—he just got through Jess and Lucy has so much shit with her family it’s like a soap opera.” He gave a short, incredulous bark of laughter. “We’re messes.”

“We’ve all got our baggage,” Denise pointed out, her tone no-nonsense but quiet. “You wear yours on your skin but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t have my own hang ups when I started dating Michelle, or that she didn’t have hers. Ours are just hidden away. You’re talking about burdening them with your issues but you wouldn’t consider yourself burdened with theirs if you were together. Their issues aren’t more legitimate to bring to the table than yours. I’ve watched you be alone for far too long, Flynn. If this is what you want… go after it. Because Lucy and Wyatt are patient—all right, Lucy’s patient, but—they’re not going to wait around forever.”

“They shouldn’t,” Flynn said. “Wait around, I mean.”

“No, they shouldn’t,” Denise agreed. “Not forever, anyway. But I think that if it’s a good enough relationship, if the person is worth it, then they’re worth a little waiting.”

She straightened up. “Sort out your shit, Flynn, and stop leaving them hanging.”

 

* * *

 

Wyatt entered the comic shop, waving his copy of the latest _Young Avengers_ in the air. “What do you mean this is the last issue!”

Rufus grinned at him from behind the counter. “I knew you’d get hooked.”

“I need _more_ , man, this is just cruel, you got me into it and now—”

“Boys,” Mason said from the back, “if you could please keep it down, some of us are trying to listen to Robert Johnson and enjoy a good single malt.”

“I thought the manager was supposed to be doing the books or some shit,” Wyatt shot back.

“When are you going to realize that nobody around here actually acts like a normal human being with a job?” Rufus asked, taking the comic back from Wyatt. “Denise knits while watching cop dramas at the counter, Michelle is literally baking in the back, Flynn and Lucy live together above the shop and Flynn’s allergic to customers…”

Wyatt thought his heart had just dropped out and landed with a thud on the floor between his feet. “Sorry—what did you just say?”

“Did you not know?” Mason asked, who apparently despite protesting about being left alone also wanted to eavesdrop. “Flynn and Lucy moved in together.”

Wyatt thought he might throw up. And he’d—he’d been all— “When did this happen?”

Oh, Jesus fuck, he’d as good as fucked Flynn. He’d done—done goddamn _frottage_ like a horny teenager and he’d— _fuck_.

For all of his sins while he was married to Jess, he had never cheated on her. The idea that he might have helped Flynn to cheat on Lucy…

Mason shrugged, looking at Rufus for confirmation. “About a month ago, I should say? At the least.”

Rufus furrowed his brow. “Buddy? You okay? You look like you just ate some bad Brazilian barbeque.”

“I have to go,” Wyatt blurted out. “I’ll—thanks for the comic, Rufus, I’ll see you two around—”

He practically stumbled out of the shop and hurried next door. Thank God, Flynn wasn’t there, it was just Lucy doing some sketching in her journal at the front desk. “Lucy.”

She looked up, setting the journal aside and smiling. “Hey, Wyatt…”

“I have to apologize.” Wyatt took a deep breath. “I didn’t know that you and Flynn were together, and so I—we—we had sex, kind of.” Oh, God, right on this front desk too, fuck his life. “I mean there wasn’t—it wasn’t a home run, y’know, more like… third base?”

Lucy stared at him. “Why… um. Wow. Okay. That’s a lot to process. Why are you apologizing to me?”

“…because you and Flynn are together.”

Lucy was really staring now, her eyes wide. “What?”

“Mason and Rufus told me—you moved in with him.”

Lucy got up slowly, indicating for Wyatt to sit down in her chair. He did so, while she perched on the edge of the desk. “Listen,” she said, quietly, looking down at her knees. “Wyatt. I’m so sorry you thought—that you’d done something awful like that.” She looked up at him. “But Flynn and I aren’t together. I moved in with him because I needed a place to stay. I couldn’t afford my apartment after my mom cut me off, and it was supposed to be temporary, but I just… haven’t found another place.”

Wyatt’s stomach slowly started to unknot itself. “So you… but… wait, how? Why? You—Flynn’s got it bad for you.”

Lucy gave him an odd smile. “I would’ve thought I’d be saying that to you. You’re the one he apparently did stuff with.”

“Yeah, and then basically acted like I had the plague,” Wyatt muttered. Not that he could quite blame Flynn. After what an ass he’d been when they’d first met… Wyatt liked to think that he’d grown a lot since then, but maybe Flynn just couldn’t let go of that first impression.

He rubbed at the tattoo on his arm, remembered how Flynn had grabbed it as he’d practically fucked Wyatt through the desk.

“Flynn’s… not good with people,” Lucy said, slowly. “He lost his wife and daughter.”

Wyatt raised his eyebrows. “I figured there was something—his wedding ring—”

Lucy nodded. “I don’t think he was… I mean you know Flynn, he’s not exactly all sunshine and roses with people in general. But I think after that it’s just made him that much more wary of letting someone have his heart, when he could lose them. If he did something with you, Wyatt, even if it was just a peck on the lips, that means something to him. Flynn’s intense, he’s not a casual person.”

“I don’t think you see how he looks at you, though,” Wyatt protested. “I mean—hell, okay, fine, yes, I’m in love with the guy, I’d date him in a heartbeat if I could. But Lucy, if you asked Flynn he’d say you hung the moon. Not to get too nerdy here but you’re his sun and stars, I’m serious. Everyone talks about how Flynn was this withdrawn cranky Scrooge before he met you and now he actually smiles and shit. You did that, not me.”

Lucy scoffed, but Wyatt saw the color in her cheeks and the odd shine to her eyes, like she might cry. “Don’t—don’t do this, Wyatt, don’t get my hopes up over—I can’t do that.”

Ah, fuck it. Wyatt got up and sat next to her on the desk, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into him. “Hey, cry if you have to, okay? But Luce, I swear, he wants you.”

“He wants _you_.” Lucy paused. “Unless…”

Wyatt didn’t stop holding her, but he did freeze a little. “No. That’s—”

Not impossible. He couldn’t say that. Not when he himself was in love with both Lucy and Flynn. But… improbable? Too much to hope for?

“I love you both,” Lucy whispered. “So why couldn’t he?”

Wyatt turned, looking down at her. Lucy slowly looked up at him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, her fingers stroking softly.

He thought his lungs might burst, that the very air might combust inside of him, that the whole world was going to tip off its axis as Lucy slowly, incredibly slowly, like she thought he might bolt, kissed him.

It was the softest kiss he’d ever known.

 

* * *

 

Lucy’s nerves rattled around like out of tune bells as she grabbed Jiya before the other woman could enter the comic shop. “I need a favor.”

Jiya took one look at her and raised her eyebrows. “Uh, you look like you just hopped off the train from Crazy Town.”

“I need to make a move on Flynn,” Lucy blurted out.

“Well, why didn’t you lead with that?” Jiya said, grinning slyly. “Y’know, I’ve always thought he’s secretly really kinky…”

“Jiya. I just want you to help me plan what to say.”

“Oh no.” Jiya shook her head. “No, no see you have to get him to stop thinking. You let him think, he’ll run away faster than Rufus from a Frank Miller _Batman_ comic.”

Lucy bit her lip. She wasn’t… sure… after her kiss with Wyatt she knew she had to do something. She couldn’t let this frustrating limbo with Flynn go on any longer.

But to be—bold like that…

She wanted to be bold like that. She wanted to feel that rush of power that she got around Flynn, the way he did as she asked and followed her lead, and a part of her knew she had to take control of this if they were going to get anywhere, but she also couldn’t silence the voice that said she was wrong, that Flynn didn’t want her, that she’d only make an embarrassment of herself.

That voice sounded an awful lot like her mother.

“Okay,” she said, glad when her voice didn’t waver. “Okay, what did you have in mind?”

What Jiya had in mind, apparently, was taking her lingerie shopping.

Lucy had never… she had a weird mix of confidence and fear when it came to her sexuality. She was bi, and was confident in that. She was good looking in most outfits, and she was confident in that. She knew what she wanted, and she was capable of going after it for a one night stand at a bar.

But a relationship? Laying her heart on the line like this?

She couldn’t quite shut off the voice that told her she wouldn’t be enough.

Jiya was a breath of fresh air in a way, talking the whole time, not letting Lucy be alone with her thoughts. “You want burgundy,” she said, pulling out some more things for Lucy to try. “Trust me, Flynn’s favorite turtleneck is his burgundy one, I bet you it’s his favorite color. And you’ll look stunning, with your dark hair.”

Lucy tried on the dark red babydoll, the silk whispering across her skin, and pulled her hair out of the way to examine the gold lacing around the breasts and lining the top. It hugged her body, and it was plain that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

Huh. She looked… elegant, regal almost, but still sexy. Lucy found she needed that element.

“Yes,” Jiya said, nodding enthusiastically. “That one.”

“You just want to get home in time for us to catch _Star Trek IV_ on the SciFi Channel.”

Jiya waved this away. “His jaw is going to drop, trust me.”

Lucy got up to the apartment before Flynn, her hands shaking a little as she put on the babydoll—and nothing else—and then sat on the edge of the bed. If this went wrong… she would lose a friend, and a home, and a job, all at once.

But if it went right…

Oh God, please, please let it go right.

The door opened and Flynn stepped in, rolling his eyes. “We should just put a goddamn sign on the door that says if one more white person asks me to give them a spirit animal tattoo I’ll—” He froze.

Lucy tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, then drew her hand slowly down the curves of her body. Flynn’s gaze tracked the movement, his eyes darkening, his jaw tightening.

“Do you like it?” she asked, her voice coming out firmer, more confident, than she felt.

In for a penny, in for a pound… she took the bottom hem of the babydoll in her fingers and slowly started to draw it up her thigh.

Flynn was across the room in a flash, and Lucy nearly fell back onto the bed as he kissed her, his mouth hot and desperate, kissed her like he’d lost his mind.

Oh, thank God, thank _God_.

Lucy clawed at him, pushing herself up, breathing snatches of sentences in between each dizzying kiss. “I hoped—when you asked—when you wanted me to— _ah_ Garcia—design—”

Flynn broke away, chest heaving, looking like a man struggling to keep from flinging himself off a cliff. “Lucy… are you…”

“Touch me,” she begged. “I want you, I love you, Garcia _please_ —”

He was on her again in a second, until they somehow ended up tangled together on the bed, feverish, like someone was counting down and they only had so long. She didn’t even bother with his shirt, just yanking at his jeans until she worked them down over his hips, Flynn pushing her babydoll up and spreading her thighs, and she couldn’t say if he was holding her or she was holding him as he tucked his face into her neck and slid his fingers into where she was already slick from anticipation, from planning, from waiting for him.

Lucy yanked at his hair, her head thrown back, the room spinning in a blur of color. It felt like she’d been aching for him nonstop for months now, maybe for even longer than that.

Flynn clearly had no intention of stopping until she came—but she wanted him inside her, wanted him to feel just as good as he was making her feel. “Fuck me,” she ordered, her voice rough. “Get inside me, fuck me.”

Flynn shuddered, withdrawing his fingers, and she pushed him onto his back so that she could straddle him. Fuck, he made a delicious sight, his hair mussed, a hint of stubble shadowing his jaw, his shirt still on and sticking to him, his eyes black and wild.

Lucy felt the breath knocked out of her as she sank onto him but she didn’t stop, didn’t pause, frantic and possessed. Flynn pulled her down to him as she started to move, his mouth at her breasts through the fabric, sucking, biting a little, then at the swell of her breasts where they peeked out from the silk, then at her neck, then finally her mouth again. Lucy tugged at his lip, sank her teeth in just a bit, thrust hard and deep and moaned when he answered her in kind. God yes, this was fantastic, rough but scratching that damn deep itch the way she needed.

Flynn got his hand between them, rubbing at her clit, and she sank down, boneless, mewling, spasming again in pleasure when she felt him come a thrust or two later.

He didn’t stop kissing her, didn’t stop touching her, and she had to push him back down onto the bed so she could explore him properly. The night was far from over.

She got his clothes off, and set to finally getting her tongue on his damn tattoos, biting at the dragon and sucking a neat bruise over _darkness_ on the script of his left arm.

“I think you have a kink,” Flynn mused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucy replied, although the effect was ruined seeing she had a mouthful of his regiment tattoo in her mouth as she said it.

Flynn chuckled but let her explore, let her find the places with her hands and her tongue that made him inhale sharply. He was sensitive at his hips, and his neck, she found, and she left bruises in each place. She took his cock in her mouth last, licking him clean and then sucking him properly, getting him nice and hard for her again—and appreciating his very nice size while she was at it.

Flynn ended up on top the second time, his leg hitched over hers, planting slow, sucking kisses on her neck as she whispered instructions in his ear, _there, yes, like that, harder, bite me, twist it, lower, perfect._ Flynn was attentive, like he felt bad for how frantically they’d fucked the first time, as if she hadn’t been a perfectly happy and even dominant participant.

She found it highly amusing that the lingerie stayed on the whole time. She’d have to remember to thank Jiya later.

He came first that time, but she didn’t even care, not when she bit down hard on his shoulder to hold in her scream as he fingered her slowly, drawing her to the edge and then back again, over and over until he tipped her over for good.

“I love you,” Flynn whispered, over and over as he touched her, as she made her whimper and cry out, as she finally sank into her second orgasm, and then long after as he kissed her like he was trying to get drunk on her. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

They did have to clean up afterwards, since falling asleep in the embrace of one’s lover was always more pleasant when all drying bodily fluids were dealt with, but afterwards Flynn drew her into his arms and fairly clung, like he’d never let go. Lucy trialed her fingers up and down his arm and wondered about how touch starved he must have been all this time, and she idly kissed his shoulder where she’d bit it, resolving to fix that. She’d touch him as much as he needed, and then some.

“Garcia?”

“Hmm?”

“I… I love you.”

Flynn kissed the top of her head.

“But I… kissed Wyatt. And he’s—he’s in love with you.”

Flynn went still.

“If you don’t want it—I’m okay, I love you, I’m happy with you, but he does love you, it’s adorable honestly, and…”

Flynn pulled back a little so that she could see his face, and she was surprised to see shame there. “I, ah, I might have been a bit unfair to him.”

“What do you mean?”

When Flynn finished telling her what had happened she grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.

“Ow, Lucy!”

“You absolute—you complete—Garcia Flynn, you moron!”

He wrested the pillow from her. “I didn’t know, I thought—I thought he wanted—I was stupid.”

“Well tomorrow we’ll end the stupid. Do you want to be with him?”

Flynn rolled his eyes. “God knows I question myself for it half the time but yes.”

“Then we’ll talk to him and it’ll be okay.” Lucy snuggled into him. Wyatt snuck into her heart comfortably, like a well-worn blanket, but Flynn had hit her like a train, like a deep breath of air after holding her breath underwater, and it felt like her heart was finally settling into place now that she was with him.

Flynn chuckled, and then he tightened his arms around her. “ _Volim te, moja draga._ ”

Lucy didn’t know what that meant, but she understood. “I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

Flynn really didn’t want to move.

Lucy was curled up in his arms, her body a warm weight over his with every breath that he took, and he couldn’t stop playing with her hair, gently working the tangles out, and she had this blissful, contented look on her face—and God he didn’t ever want to stop, he didn’t want to leave this moment, this moment of loving her fiercely and unashamedly and with everything in him.

Her finger traced the line of the script tattoo on his left arm, swirling, dipping, curling around. “You really want me to do one for you?” Her voice was a whisper.

“If you want to.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Something that means… us.”

“Us?”

“I have Lorena on my skin. I have Iris. I have my mother. They’re… a part of me. Even if not everyone sees it every day, there is a… it’s a declaration, almost. I look at myself in the mirror and I see them. I want to see you, too.”

Lucy made an odd sound, almost but not quite a laugh. “How do you just say things like that?”

Flynn felt his face heating up. “Things like what? What I’m thinking?”

Lucy turned her face, her chin resting on his chest, so that she could look him in the eye. Her hand came up to brush through his hair softly, her fingertips moving down to trace the curve of his face. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re real,” she admitted softly.

He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to the knuckles there. “I wonder the same thing.”

Lucy smiled at him, a smile like a rainbow, sudden and magical and ethereal, and then she snuggled back down against his chest. “I was thinking… we need to talk to Wyatt.”

They did. “You said that you… worked things out with him?”

“Mostly. He said he had feelings for both of us, I said I had feelings for him and you, we kissed… but we didn’t exactly say, hey you go seduce him and report back to me if it’s successful.”

Flynn snorted. “You didn’t seduce me.”

“You’re right, that suggests work on my part, I didn’t have to do anything.”

“You were _wearing_ … never mind.”

Lucy giggled, squeezing Flynn’s fingers where they were still tangled with hers. “I was thinking that we could go over to his place?”

It was… almost noon, actually, and if Flynn was in the habit of keeping the shop open on Sundays he would’ve been screwed, but lucky for him, he could stay in bed all day with Lucy if he wanted. But he’d woken up with her in his arms half an hour ago and had been lying like this all that time and so he probably should get up before the rest of their friends started texting asking where they were.

“Wyatt wouldn’t mind us just stopping by?”

“He’s got nothing else going on, or at least that’s what he told me. And it’s late enough, he should be up by now.” Lucy’s eyes searched his, her expression hopeful but tentative. “If you want to, I mean?”

Flynn nodded, heart in his throat. He was going to have to do some major apologizing to Wyatt in the process but… it would be worth it, if Wyatt said yes, if he still wanted to give Flynn a chance.

They got dressed and drove over, Lucy trying to text Wyatt along the way but not getting a response. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she assured Flynn, tucking her phone into her pocket. “He’s shit at answering it anyway. He’ll want to see us.”

“He’ll want to see you, you mean.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. Flynn wished he had her confidence.

They pulled up and found a spot on the street to park, getting out. “See, his car’s here,” Lucy noted, jerking her chin at the blue civic in the ‘residents only’ parking space.

Flynn followed her up to the front door, where she buzzed Wyatt’s apartment.

“Hello?” Wyatt’s voice through the speaker made Flynn’s stomach tighten.

“Hey, Wyatt, it’s Flynn and me,” Lucy said. “Can we come in?”

“Yeah, of course, sorry I didn’t text you back, I just saw.” There was the buzz of the front door unlocking, and then Lucy grabbed the door and they went in.

Lucy let out a shaky breath as they got to Wyatt’s door on the third floor. Flynn put his hand on the small of her back, hoping to steady her. She shot him a grateful look, and then knocked on the door.

It opened and Lucy said, “Hey, we—”

Only to be tackled.

“Lucy!” a girl with sparkling eyes, dark blonde hair, and a huge smile practically knocked Lucy to the floor as she hugged her.

“Oh my God, Amy!” Lucy blurted out, hugging her back. Over her sister’s shoulder, Lucy gave Flynn a wild, desperate stare.

Flynn nearly smacked his own forehead. In all the, ah, excitement last night, they’d forgotten that today was the day Amy and Jess flew in. Wyatt had picked them up from the airport this morning, that must have been why he hadn’t been answering his phone. Jess and Amy would be staying in Wyatt’s spare room, since there wasn’t enough room for both of them at Lucy and Flynn’s, and it would have been unfair to separate them.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Amy was saying as Lucy recovered herself and started kissing Amy’s hair and complaining about time zone changes and showing off her tattoo.

Flynn entered the apartment properly, leaving the two sisters to chatter at each other in the hallway, and found Wyatt sitting at the kitchen table with a gorgeous blonde that had to be Jessica. With messy hair, a pert nose, a smirk and well-defined arms, Flynn could see why first Wyatt and then Amy had fallen for her.

“You must be _Flynn_ ,” Jess said, emphasizing his name and giving a knowing grin as she stood up to shake his hand.

“And you must be Jess.” He shook her hand. “Wyatt’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh, likewise,” Jess replied.

Wyatt looked longingly at the window like he was contemplating jumping out of it.

Flynn looked over his shoulder at the Preston sisters. “I think your girlfriend is going to be stolen away for a while,” he noted to Jess.

“It’s fine, we joined the mile high club so everything’s just rainbows to me right now,” Jess said.

“You can’t—” Wyatt’s face spasmed and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Jess you can’t just say shit like that.”

“Wyatt, honey, go get laid, it’ll make you much more relaxed,” Jess replied.

“Hey, Wyatt, you got any coffee left?” Flynn interjected.

Wyatt shot him a look of gratitude, flipped Jess off, and then went into the kitchen.

Flynn followed. “Hey, listen, full disclosure—Lucy and I forgot what day it was.”

Wyatt grabbed a mug out of the cupboard and stared at him, eyebrows raised. “Lucy forgot her sister was coming to stay today?”

“She was caught up in… stuff,” Flynn finished lamely.

Wyatt poured coffee into the mug. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Just two sugars. Is that hazelnut creamer?”

“Shut up,” Wyatt replied, but his cheeks were pink and he was fighting to hold down a smile. “But, wait. Why are you here if not for Amy?”

He passed Flynn his coffee, and Flynn wrapped his hand around Wyatt’s as he grabbed it. Wyatt froze. “Listen, Wyatt, Lucy and I were… we came over to talk to you…”

“Okay, Amy you—” Lucy paused, her hand in Amy’s as she dragged her into the kitchen. “Oh, I’m sorry, were we…”

“No, you’re fine,” Wyatt said quickly, worming his hand out from underneath Flynn’s. “You wanted to have Amy say hi to Flynn, right?”

“Um… yes.” Lucy looked over at Flynn helplessly. “Why don’t you two get caught up—hey, Wyatt—”

Lucy followed Wyatt back out into the living room, while Flynn held his hand out for Amy to shake—only to have her hug him instead.

“God, it's been, what, a year since you gave me my tattoo?” Amy asked, pulling away and grinning. “When I sent my sister to you I didn't know you two would be falling all over each other.”

“Um, thank you?”

“I knew there was a soft nerd underneath all that crankiness.”

“The first thing you said to me when we met is that I was a nerd for having Tolkien tattoos,” Flynn pointed out. “It's not like the nerd was hiding.”

From the living room came the sound of Jess’s laughter. Just going off of a hunch, Flynn had a feeling that Lucy was failing in getting Wyatt alone just as Flynn had. “You and Jess, huh?”

Amy nodded, her brown eyes dancing. They were a much lighter brown than Lucy’s, but the sisters had the same face shape and the same smile. “I was terrified when we met in person that she wouldn’t like me, or that she’d only like me as a friend, and I had such a huge crush on her, but she got off the plane and we hugged for like five minutes and then she pulled back and we just stared at each other and then next thing I knew we were kissing.”

Flynn nodded, marveling at the ability of people to just… act on their romantic inclinations. As opposed to his own terrified, stumbling methods.

“Amy!” Lucy yelled. “Get in here!”

Amy grimaced. “I think she’s found out about my belly button piercing,” she whispered, and then she scampered out into the living room.

Flynn followed, silently cursing his inability to think of another excuse to get Wyatt alone.

He wanted to tell Wyatt as soon as possible, before he lost his nerve. Wyatt couldn’t—shouldn’t—go on thinking that Flynn didn’t want to fix his mistake. Sure, Wyatt had once annoyed the fuck out of Flynn and been a toxic jackass but he’d improved, he’d become a better person, and he’d stuck his neck out on the line for Flynn twice now and Flynn had… made a right dumpster fire of things. He didn’t want to make Wyatt wait any longer.

But try as he might, Flynn couldn’t think of a way to get Wyatt alone short of bodily hauling him into the bedroom.

Amy was seated on the couch, her legs slung over Lucy’s lap as she curled into Jess, one of Jess’s arms wrapped around Amy’s torso. The two of them looked so comfortable together, touchy but not gooey about it, already so casually intimate with one another.

Wyatt was in the armchair, one leg hooked over the arm of it, because God forbid Wyatt sit in anything properly, and Flynn grabbed a chair from the dining room table and straddled it backwards. Amy was in the middle of a lively story about skydiving, so Flynn just listened and hoped that he could catch Wyatt’s eye somehow. And that he’d developed telepathy and Wyatt would hear Flynn mentally chanting _go into the kitchen alone, go into the kitchen alone, go into the kitchen alone._

No such luck.

By the time they all arranged to head back to the tattoo parlor to show it to Jess and Amy, Lucy and Flynn still hadn’t found a way to get Wyatt alone. And with Lucy’s sister here, and Wyatt’s ex-slash-best-friend… it was going to be nearly impossible.

God dammit.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt popped into the comic store. “Hey, Rufus—”

“If it’s about Lucy and Flynn, trust me, I already know,” Rufus grumbled. “Jiya wouldn’t shut up about it.”

Wyatt froze. “What are you talking about? I was asking if you wanted to meet Jess and Amy later.” The two were currently asleep at the apartment, jet lag finally catching up to them. “What’s this about Lucy and Flynn.”

“I guess the two of them finally hooked up? Jiya said she helped Lucy pick out some lingerie and then she just saw them holding hands. She said it was _Pride and Prejudice_ levels of satisfying.”

Wyatt’s stomach dropped out. “Oh. Uh. Great, good for them, I’m glad.”

“Yeah. But hey, just let me know when to meet them, I’d love to get to know Jess and pump her for blackmail info.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

Wyatt went next door immediately. _It’s okay_ , he told himself. _Just say congratulations and walk away. Just say congratulations and walk away. Just say…_

He opened the door and stepped in, and immediately got an armful of Lucy. “What—”

“We were about to go looking for you.” She hugged him tightly, then stepped back. Flynn stood behind her, looking… well, looking as contrite as Wyatt had ever seen him.

Wyatt swallowed as Flynn walked up to him, unsure what to say, what to do, hoping, hating that he was hoping, unable to breath as Flynn pulled him in—and all but collapsing as Flynn kissed him.

Yes, please, yes _please_ , holding onto Flynn and kissing back for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” Flynn whispered into his mouth. “I’ve been informed I’m an idiot.”

“I was an idiot for the first thirty-four years of my life so I think we’re even,” Wyatt managed, and then Flynn kissed him again and stole the rest of his thought.

“Did you mean it?” Flynn asked, pulling back. “When you said—”

Wyatt knew what he meant. “I know I probably—said it all wrong. And I probably came on too strong, and was just a fucking dumbass, but, yes. The only thing I’m sure about is you two.”

This time, when Flynn kissed him, Wyatt could feel him smiling.

Somehow they got upstairs—Wyatt wasn’t sure how—and collapsing onto the bed. Lucy was muttering things like _stupid boys_ and _if you two would just shut up and listen for two seconds_ but she was kissing him and kissing Flynn so Wyatt thought maybe she wasn’t all that upset.

And God, she was perfect, her curves fitting in his hands and against his mouth like fucking art or something and when she tugged his hair to get him right where she wanted him so she could kiss him and grind in his lap Wyatt thought he was going to vibrate right out of his skin. Watching her and Flynn kiss was like a revelation, like sin and poetry, and he got a little sidetracked from kissing her in order to watch as Flynn licked up her thighs, right into her, his dark head between her legs as Lucy gasped and shook in response.

Flynn took his sweet time with her like that, and Wyatt drank it all in, painfully hard and just about ready to lose it completely as Flynn sealed his mouth on her and Lucy cried out, sighed, looked like a cat with a bowl of cream.

All he really needed at that point was a few strokes and he would’ve been good to go, but Flynn and Lucy had the devil in their eyes as Flynn pulled away and crawled up to kiss Wyatt, the tangy-slick taste of Lucy still on Flynn’s tongue.

“ _Sagni se_ ,” Flynn murmured, his hands skimming up and down Wyatt’s sides. “ _Idem te pojebati dok ne vrištiš._ ”

“I have no idea what that means but you can say it any time you want,” Wyatt blurted out.

Flynn chuckled darkly. “It means bend over. I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”

Hoo Lord. Oh—okay, yeah, sure, Wyatt could do that. Wyatt could definitely do that.

He turned around, got on all fours, as Lucy took Wyatt’s face in her hands and kissed him, spicy and sweet at the same time, her hands carding through his hair gently but her teeth coming out to worry his bottom lip. Flynn kissed along his spine as he spread Wyatt’s legs, and Wyatt nearly lost his mind when he heard the sound of a cap flipping open. He was nervous, he was excited, he wanted, he needed, he had doubts—

Flynn worked him open slowly, murmuring encouragement and praise, far softer than Wyatt had expected. Lucy seemed more than happy with the show, kissing Flynn, kissing Wyatt, directing them both, and Wyatt had his suspicions before but was now certain which one of them was going to be in charge around here and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be someone with a dick.

He nearly lost his mind when Flynn finally entered him, panting, overwhelmed, a bit of fear pricking the edges of his vision—but then it got—it got better it got—it got, wow, okay, it was—he was—Flynn was—oh God oh fuck oh Jesus—

Wyatt came a lot sooner than he wanted to and would’ve been embarrassed about it, if Flynn hadn’t followed right after, spurred on by Lucy murmuring things in his ear that Wyatt couldn’t catch but he could easily guess, things like _you make him give such pretty noises_ and _look at you losing it like this I love it let go for me darling_.

The best part though… okay, orgasms were great. Wyatt loved orgasms. Who didn’t? But the best part was afterwards.

It was Flynn noting how impersonal Wyatt’s apartment was, and Lucy noting how their bed was big enough for three. It was borrowing Flynn’s shirt to sleep in. It was Lucy washing his hair in the shower.

It was burying his nose in Flynn’s neck and breathing him in, Lucy spooning him from behind like a koala, her legs and arms firmly clamped around his torso, and feeling like—like now he knew who he was.

Now he knew where he belonged.

 

* * *

 

Flynn braced his elbow on the bed and used it as leverage to frown down at his partners, who were giggling uncontrollably into the pillows. “I don’t get it. What is so goddamn appealing about a tattoo chair?”

“Garcia, darling.” Lucy’s eyes sparkled. “Just go with it.”

“It’s unsanitary!”

“We know.”

“I’m not actually going to fuck either of you in it, it won’t actually be very comfortable.”

“Flynn, you asshole, love of my life, it was a goddamn sex dream, shut up and let us live.”

 

* * *

 

Wyatt walked up to the tattoo parlor eager to get in so he could flop dramatically onto the desk.

Lucy would pet his hair and say, _aw, did my sweetheart have a hard day?_ And he would say yes he had and pout and Lucy would laugh and then Flynn would grumpily say that Wyatt had literally signed up for this, Wyatt was the one who wanted to be a tattoo artist, Wyatt had asked for this, and then Wyatt would pout some more and Flynn would walk over and tell Lucy she was spoiling him, and then Flynn would prove what a liar he was by kissing Wyatt, and then—

Wyatt stopped short.

Dammit, why were there clients in the shop!?

Okay, so they needed clients, of course, and the shop had been getting a lot more popular lately, Lucy even had a weeks-long waiting list set up. But still. He wanted to just cuddle his boyfriend and girlfriend, dammit.

He walked inside and Lucy paused in the design she was sketching at the desk, smiling up at him. “Hey, sweetheart, have a good day?”

“It was a day,” he replied. He couldn’t wait until he could apprentice himself under Flynn, and just work with him and Lucy, but first he had to finish his art degree at the local community college. Oh, and get licensed.

“Flynn’s just got one last person,” Lucy assured him. “The others are just friends.” She turned the sketchbook she had, showing it to him. “What do you think?”

Lucy designed a lot of their tattoos, but was currently working on one for Flynn—an open journal, with color spilling out of it in the shape of a tree.

Flynn and Lucy had come up with the idea together. Wyatt was loved by them, he knew that he was and he didn’t doubt it, but he agreed with them that he wasn’t the one who’d really—Lucy and Flynn had met each other first, and they’d given each other new life, new color, and Wyatt had added to that, but they’d been the start for each other, the one that the other had truly needed.

Lucy was apparently working on a design for Flynn that represented Wyatt, but she wasn’t telling him what it was. It was supposed to be a surprise.

Wyatt was trying very hard to be patient.

“I love it,” he said, tracing the drawing with his finger. “Hey, think I got time for a shower before we have to go over?”

“Seeing as they can’t start until Flynn’s there to walk her down the aisle, I think you’re good.”

He kissed her, waved at Flynn as he walked past, and hurried upstairs.

It was Jiya and Rufus’s wedding—they were doing a late afternoon ceremony, just something simple, and then a reception right afterwards. Flynn was giving Jiya away, news that had definitely not made him cry, if you were to ask him, and most definitely made him tear up, if you were to ask anyone else who’d been there.

When Wyatt hopped out of the shower, Flynn and Lucy were just coming up the stairs, Flynn bitching about customers and Lucy laughing and reminding him that customers were how they made rent.

“How else are we supposed to buy three tickets to New Zealand?” Lucy asked, brushing past Wyatt and yanking her shirt off her head.

“Prostitution?” Flynn suggested, ducking into the bathroom to fix his hair.

“You’d make a decent prostitute,” Wyatt said.

“Fuck you, I’d be an amazing prostitute,” Flynn shot back.

“I do fuck you, regularly,” Wyatt replied.

“And am I not worth paying?”

“Yeah, sure, five bucks maybe.”

“That blowjob this morning was worth at least a hundred.”

“Boys,” Lucy said idly, getting into her dress and turning around so Wyatt could do the zipper up.

“Jess’ll laugh herself sick if we tell her. Hey, to visit you, we considered prostitution, but decided the economy just wasn’t right for it,” Wyatt said.

“Can you be useful and get me my socks?” Flynn said with false annoyance.

Wyatt went over to the dresser and opened the sock drawer, grinning at Lucy, who smothered her laughter with her hand.

Flynn, somehow, thought the two of them didn’t know about the rings he kept hidden in his underwear and sock drawer, wrapped up in a pair of woolen socks that he never wore. Lucy had found them ages ago when she’d stolen said socks on a cold night, had promptly showed the rings to Wyatt, and they’d been waiting for Flynn to pop the question ever since.

Didn’t matter if it wasn’t for a while, though. Wyatt could wait. There was Rufus and Jiya’s wedding, and Mark’s high school graduation, and visiting Jess and Amy in New Zealand, and his own tattoo license to think about.

All good things. So many, more than Wyatt had once thought he was capable of experiencing, and so many more to come that he didn’t even know about yet.

He got out the socks, closed the drawer, and jumped a little as Lucy wrapped her arms around him. “You okay?” she asked, kissing his shoulder lightly.

Wyatt nodded. “Yeah. Just… happy. I’m happy.”

“Damn it,” Flynn said, exiting the bathroom. “And here we’ve been trying so hard to make you miserable.” He took the socks from Wyatt and kissed him softly.

“I love you,” Wyatt admitted. It still felt like an admittance, rather than just a statement of fact, but he knew he’d get there.

“I know,” Flynn replied, winking.

Wyatt grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, Lucy laughed and told them to get their damn shoes on, Wyatt couldn’t do his tie for shit and Flynn had to help him while making sarcastic comments about how this was why Wyatt was the sub, and it was messy and chaotic and perfect.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m going to make you beg for me = Natjerat ću te da moliš za mene.  
> Bend over = sagni se  
> I’m going to fuck you until you scream = Idem te pojebati dok ne vrištiš


End file.
